


Raising Skeletons

by Asase



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Espionage, F/M, Jealousy, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2020-06-02 08:29:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19437703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asase/pseuds/Asase
Summary: Set a few years after Endgame. The boys are back to the superhero grind when they discover yet another evil organization trying to create super soldiers. Also dealing with lots of repressed feelings. Actually mainly dealing with lots of repressed feelings but evil stops for no one.





	1. Chapter 1

  


  


Currently Sam wished he was on vacation in Marseille instead of Avengering in it. He was dressed to stand out just enough, a dressy casual combination of blue and white that made him look like he’d read a fashion magazine or two. It marked him as a tourist with money to burn, which made him invisible. It also made him kinda pissy. Captain America doesn’t have time for fashion. Captain America can barely get 4 hours of sleep night to night. Sam Wilson used to be a dapper son of a bitch but the shield gives no shits. So since he had free reign of the ‘company card’ in order to prepare for this reconnaissance mission he figured he’d spluge.

The pub he was pretending to be a tourist that appreciated local experiences in was a nice place. Nice enough that a bored Sam wondered about the classification. It could be a cafe. Whatever rustic edges it once boasted had been softened by flower pots and white table cloths. The booths were newly upholstered in a rich red leather. The dark wood was shined to blinding perfection. But there was a wide range of beers on tap and a more than decent array of liquor lined up on the shelves behind the bar. A large tv broadcasted some soccer game that Sam wasn’t paying attention to because he wasn’t a soccer person. The clientele was a mix of men from eighteen to too old to still be drinking without an organ transplant or two. All loud, all drunk, and all yelling at the TV even though it was still the middle of the day. So pub it was. Said pub also happened to be the hangout spot for the criminal organization he was currently observing. 

It took two years for the world to fall into some sort of order. To become normal. Normal meaning that it wasn’t long before Sam and his compatriots were spread across the globe righting the wrongs of an assortment of villainous organizations. Because everybody wanted to be the new Hydra, but (thankfully) no one had the chops to live up to the name. The shock of the decimation made the rationale for the accords moot. So after some reorganization those of the superhero persuasion had the freedom to move as needed. And armed with wisdom gained from past mistakes ( and a considerable lack of aliens and or killer robot armies) they caused a lot less chaos. It was nice in a way, soothing. Almost made him forget the weight of the shield on his back. 

He wondered for the zillionth time if this is how Steve felt. If the constant nagging of imposter syndrome ever faded away, but he never asked. Steve was a phone call away. He had settled into a nice little cottage and had live in help from a sweet young blonde that made eyes at him. Because somehow even actually geriatric Steve Rogers managed to pull ass….the distinguished motherfucker. Anyway, Steve was living a sweet retired life and Sam didn't want to put a damper on it. And everything he knew about psychology told him these feelings were normal, he just wished someone could tell him how to make them go away. 

Sam took the last sip of his sweet tea and continued to gaze out the pub window. He was here on reconnaissance, not to mope, moon? over Steve again. Or more specifically at the chance with Steve that he never took. But his marks hadn’t stopped by today, his meal was long since finished, and he needed a refill on his tea. So his mind wondered. Sam ordered sweet tea while eating lunch at a pub in France of all places for three reasons. One, no one over here had seemed to have heard of it but this place advertised it on the menu outside. Such a bold gesture deserved his attention. Two, because of the bartender. He noticed her the first time he entered the tavern. From what he could see of her she was attractive, probably the type of woman he’d go for before Steve and Natasha showed up on his doorstep and wrecked his standards with their perfect everything. If he saw her in the states he’d appreciate the view for a moment then move on. But their eyes had met when he first entered the pub a few days ago and she nodded. He nodded in return. (Hey brother. Hey sister. Good to see a friendly brown face amidst a sea of white. Let us raise our fists in the air to express solidarity between the diaspora and all that.) Three, as living proof of their boldness they had free samples lined up at the bar. The tea was good. Tastefully sweet by southern standards with a hint of lemon. Also, might have been spiked...but he wasn’t gonna tell anybody.    
  
So when the bartender sauntered over to his table after his third day catching lunch at the pub. Yeah, sauntered, he knew he fucked up. Because while flattered he wasn’t supposed to catch anyone’s attention. Her thick black hair was pulled back and piled high on top of her head, it’s coils and curls formed a large halo around her face. Looking now he could see a few streaks of grey. Possibly the only signs of aging the woman had and even that seemed premature. She was a little shorter than average for a woman. Despite the early spring weather she wore a flowy white button down shirt that was slightly tucked into a dark skirt. A skirt that was short enough to show off her thighs as she sat down on the corner of his table. And that was all the lessons he learned from “avengers training” rushing back, ruining his ability to at least enjoy some flirting before diverting her attention, because muscles. Nice muscles, but way more than the average woman who keeps in shape would have. Her shirt was just sheer enough that he could see the outline of her arms, she was pretty ripped there too. A wiry kind of muscle, but still, damn. Perfect everything achievement unlocked. From experience he assumed she was probably in on the criminal organization he was looking after. Great. 

Maybe she’d go full honey pot. He wasn’t adverse to hooking up with the femme fatal type, the sex was pretty good, the fights that folllowed were better. Not as exhilarating as flying but he got his thrills in whenever he could. Probably the only thing that kept him sane during his years being Americas ass’s wingman. Also, he wasn’t ever gonna cash in on what was probably misplaced lust over Steve onto James. No matter how many times James insisted Sam call him Bucky in an effort to deepen their friendship (which was deep enough, really they got along great). Or when he caught James staring. Or how James wasn’t shy at all with platonic pda. But most pressingly, how Sam’s heart ached during those quiet moments after a mission. When they both were just happy to be alive and whole. The look in James’ eyes just….No, his best friend’s best friend and co-worker was off limits. 

  


“I thought I heard an American accent.” she said in english. American english, with a bit of a southern lit to her voice, nothing overwhelming but it explained the sweet tea. 

Her smirk invited a challenge. Sam answered with one of his own. He rubbed his beard. “That bad huh?” he did alright with French, but that’s why James(who was currently scoping out another part of the city) was with him. All those languages still crammed in his skull despite his deprograming made international travel a breeze. 

She shrugged. “I’ve heard worse. Anyway, not why I’m here.” She leaned over so that her lips were an inch from his ear. Her hand moved to top his, she traced a finger down the back of his hand while she spoke. “Should I expect some trouble Captain?” She said before pulling away.

He hated being right. “We should take this elsewhere.”

“Later.” She took the pitcher and refilled his glass. “After closing.” She winked at him before easing off the table. “And bring your Russian friend, We’ll make it a party.” 

Sam’s chuckled in spite of himself. He took another sip of his tea as he watched her walk away. He had brought James to lunch with him on his second visit to Pub. Despite his mug being plastered all over the smithsonian, and all the murdering, James, didn’t have much of a public persona. The cloaking mechanism on his arm helped him blend in as well. Figuring out that Sam was Captain America wasn’t too much of a lift for a baddie in the know. But referencing Winter Soldier shit? He, they, had been made. James was not gonna be happy about it. 

  


* * *

  
  
Bucky glowered at Sam from the moment Sam broke the news until they reached the back door of the pub. He dropped it for what Sam called his resting murder face, it became more of an active murder face as the woman opened the door. Sam had tried to explain that whatever this was it wouldn’t be a credible threat, not to the two of them. But traps worked best when you underestimated them. 

It took a lot of doing but Sam had convinced him not to come in full tact gear. He settled for something he could at least move well in instead. All black because he was in a mood. Had at least three weapons on his person. And for once he regretted cropping his hair short a month ago if only for the overall effect long hair gave his look.(The regret faded fast, his hair was past his shoulders before the cut. Sam had started calling Bucky Rapunzel after he put it in a braid once while fixing his bike. One damn time and the nickname stuck for months. After Clint started using it that was it. At least his hair was long enough to donate to Locks of Love.) Sam was still dressed in his casual clothing and brought along the energy shield prototype because of portability. Bucky understood, kinda hard to keep a low profile with a hunk of vibranium on your back. 

The woman’s eyes laughed. “Might want to save those for later.” She gestured to the weapon at Bucky’s hip. The murder face deepend and she grinned. “Come up I’ll make you a drink,” she said as she walked up the stairs to her apartment above the pub. 

Sam and Bucky looked at each other, some of Bucky’s agitation was redirected to Sam. Sam had the decency to look sheepish. 

“I’ll go first then,” Sam said as he followed the woman up the stairs. 

Sam failed to mention that the woman was attractive, which is probably why they were in this mess to begin with. Sam was a flirt. Sam didn’t seem to have strong preferences for things like body type, hair color, or gender. Sam had a near endless supply of one night stands. Bucky had half a mind to be the one that Sam settled down with. Only half cuz professionalism The other half, well, he knew deep down that Sam’s business was Sam’s business. He was just tired of the cycle. Disappointment at discovering that Sam had found a partner. Relief when it was revealed that it was a casual arrangement. Superiority when said arrangement fizzed out. And dread. Dread over the idea that this is just how Sam lived his life. That maybe Sam just didn’t ever want anything permanent. And since Bucky was a friend even if Sam was interested (A guy can dream right?) it was too risky to pursue. 

  


Jewel tones, and golds. Ivory and dark wood. House plants that thrived in the corners. Shoes under the coffee table and dishes in the sink. The place had been decorated with intention but was still lived in. Remodeled maybe a year ago just like the pub below it. This woman had settled here or she at least knew how to fake it.

“Do you want coffee or something stronger?” She asked as she headed to her kitchen. Dark blue cabinets, butcher block countertops. A strip of magnets that boasted a wide variety of knives. Yeah he was paying attention. Because this totally was a trap, right?

“I think we’ll skip the drinks, thanks.” Sam said evenly. 

Bucky noted what looked like a pretty standard weapons cabinet. The lock was electronic, four digit code. She caught his eye then, her amusement clear. Bucky was about ready to throw something at her.  


“Well, I’m getting a bourbon.” She reached into a glass fronted cabinet, grabbed a bottle and a tumbler. She poured until her glass was a fourth of the way full.

“Why are we here?” Bucky asked. He didn’t bother to keep the heat from his voice. He and Sam stood waiting in her living room space. Sam had relaxed a bit, Bucky wouldn’t. 

She took a seat in a dark purple chair. “Because I’d like to stay neutral.” She raised a hand to stop Wilson from speaking. “Sit please, I’ve been on my feet all day and looking at you two standing is making them hurt.”    
  
Sam sat, Bucky didn’t. 

The woman rolled her eyes at Bucky. “I’ve either managed to escape the notice from some pretty shady characters. Or they have determined to leave me be. And I could be just paranoid. Y’all could be on vacation and just really liked my food enough to come back day to day. Or you could be staking someone or place out. The second option could bring way too much attention to my neck of the woods.”

“You don’t think we could contain it?” Sam asked incredulously.

“They don’t send the shield out for shit that’s containable.”

“Touche.” Sam leaned back on the loveseat. He was letting his guard down, dammit Sam.

“What do you know about the Teeth?” Bucky asked

She swirled the liquor in her cup then took a sip.

“It’s not a hard question.” Bucky pressed. 

“It isn’t,” She admitted. “Not as much as I should apparently.” 

“Apparently?” Sam encouraged. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve heard of them. Besides, I never got more information than a name while all the poking, prodding, and electrocuting was going on.”

Sam had his sympathetic face on. It wasn’t mushy, he wasn’t Steve. Steve would have been about ready for hugs and commiseration by now. But Bucky had seen enough of it to know the face. Sam was about ready to treat this woman as a victim. And that was dangerous

“But they aren’t here,” The woman continued. “I’d know if they were here.”

“They aren’t,” Bucky confirmed “But some people they are interested in are.”

“Gathering thugs?” She guessed. “Can’t take over the world without a steady supply disposables.”

“Gathering resources,” Sam corrected. “That gang that hangs out here, their boss. He’s pretty loaded.”

The woman drained her cup. She stared at the bottom of the empty glass. “He is. Tried to buy us out, offered triple what this building is worth like it was nothing. But I wouldn’t agree to sell.”   
  
“By us you mean Delphine Laurent?” Bucky had done his homework. Mrs Laurent is a widow, her husband was one of the many casualties of the decimation. Lucien Laurent was in his truck when people started disappearing. The man in the lane opposite of him disappeared causing his car to swerve onto the other side of the road. With the confusion elsewhere it took much longer than usual for a paramedic to arrive. He died on the scene, left there for hours after the initial crash. This woman, Christine Laurent, appeared in their life suddenly and was listed as their adoptive daughter. The records of her existence were super spotty. She took over management of the Laurant’s pub last year. 

“Yes,” She answered. “The guy tried to sweet talk her. Came dressed in a suit like he’s some legitimate businessman. But he stank of gang activity. He has either direct control of, or ties to, seedy organizations all over southern Europe.” 

Sam leaned forward. “You’ve been keeping tabs.” 

“I gotta with them so close. They eat here, drink here. Tried making trouble from time to time but after a few run ins they know to be polite. Or at least they try to.” 

“Does that explain the arsonal?” Bucky asked.

She grinned wolfishly. “You want a lie or the truth?”

Bucky didn’t answer. Just looked her in the eyes trying to see if he could pick up on any tells. 

“You know, I think they think I’m dead? The Teeth that is. Which-” She placed her cup on the coffee table . “Cool or whatever. I’m not complaining. Point is I know they didn’t die out, but I don’t know if they stopped looking because they no longer need to, or if they think I’ve been taken care of already. If they start looking again I need to at least be able to take care of any pursuers. I’d just rather not-“

I can’t make any promises,” Sam started. “You’re right. I wouldn’t be here if it were something simple, but-”

“Just direct any-” She was interrupted by a doorbell chime. She looked at the smart watch she wore on her wrist. The way her face hardened meant that she was not looking forward to any other guests. 

“We weren’t followed.” Bucky offered.    


She sighed. “You didn’t have to be. There’s always a look out since this is gang territory. But I have guests often enough so they shouldn’t be suspicious.Though last week….”

Sam moved to get out of his seat. “Need an assist?”

“Naw just,” she pulled off her watch and set it down on the coffee table. “Watch that, I’m getting paranoid.” She stood and tugged down her skirt. 

“Now you’re paranoid?” Sam asked. 

The woman walked to the door just beyond her kitchen. Bucky assumed it led down to the pub. Next to the door was an umbrella holder, she pulled a pair of batons from them and hung the weapons from a belt loop.

“It’s not paranoia if it happens.” Bucky supplied cooly. 

“Pack it in Stormy,” she said with a smirk. She had a cell phone tucked into the waist band of her skirt. She pulled it out and tapped in a few numbers. “Bad vibes are contagious.” 

  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Every other Saturday night the four of them would pile into her father’s station wagon and putter on over to the “big” Blockbuster on the rich side of town. Each person was allowed one movie. Her little brother would find some stupid cartoon. She’d rent (or rerent depending on her progress) a video game. Her parents had eclectic taste in movies, though in general her father leaned towards action and her mother horror. But overall she’d grown up watching a wide array of B-D level movies because one, or both, of them picked something weird. It was also why she’d seen her fair share of the classics. One in particular spooked her younger brother so badly that he pestered their father to equip him with a sword and shield. Luckily it was close enough to Halloween that the dollar store had just the thing. He slept with the sword under his pillow and the shield by his side for a month. 

Dubbed the children of Hydra, armed skellingtons rose from the ground. Born from the teeth of the monster that had been sown by a crazed sorcerer. The undead army pursued Jason and his fellow soldiers, killing all but Jason. Forcing him to jump into the ocean from a high cliff in order to avoid his own demise. For a movie released in 1963 the action held up.

“Number 217.”

The man’s voice was sharp, bringing her back to the present. She was surrounded by a wide array of men and women. They all wore loose undyed clothing with black block numbers across their chests. She wore something similar, the fabric scratched her skin, and reeked of sweat. She didn’t remember the past few minutes, but she was kneeling now on the concrete floor. A man’s head was in the crook of her arm. His eyes glazed over as he took his last breath. She released him and scooted away. She doesn't kill. She didn’t know how, nor did she want to know. She supposed she had the chance to learn. Was told by a Jrotc instructor in highschool that she could be a decent fit. She just figured that playing army for a few years would be more fun than P.E. She wasn’t serious about enlisting, and promptly moved on to study architectural history at a private college. 

“Number 217!” the male voice called again. 

She whipped her head around to look at him. Pale, ugly, and pockmarked. He wore a stiff looking black uniform with a red tie. 

He sucked his teeth. Then looked at the dead man. “What a waste.” 

“We can always find another.” A second man stood behind him, he wore a lab coat over his dress pants and shirt. His hair, long, messy, and platinum blond, ruined the overall scientist look. He jotted notes on a clipboard. “Besides, this one only has the base physical enhancements.” he pointed to the woman with his pen. “If he was killed so easily by her he’d be no use either way.”

“Is this a dream?” her voice was hoarse, as if it hadn’t been used in a long time. 

The ugly man threw up his hands. “Wipe her. Again!”

Something sharp pricked her neck. A dart? Everything was getting blurry but she knew now. This wasn’t a dream. She’d forget again but the memories would always return. Something about her specifically, about how her brain worked, how it healed itself. She remembered the man with the clipboard saying so. Next time, next time I won’t make the same mistake, she thought before knocking out. 

* * *

Two men stood outside of the pub’s front door. The taller one had more muscle than sense. For whatever reason she guessed that his handler felt that he’d do a good job of intimidating her. The handler was basically middle management. He fit the description of short and squat to a T. His nasally voice did the French language no favors. 

“What’s that for?” He pointed to the phone the woman held to her ear.

“Calling the authorities.”

He scoffed. “The police will do you no good with us. Look at where we are? Do you really think they will come?”

“Oh?” She moved the phone from near her ear and looked at it. “Then should I call an ambulance then Auguste?”

“Christine,” he sighed. “Why do you have to be so-”

“So what? I am being helpful. You will need one when this is over.” 

“Difficult. So difficult,” He gestured in her direction. “Please dear one. We can talk about this? We only stopped by out of worry.”

She held back a shiver at the endearment, the pitch of his voice wrangled the term. “Worry?”

“Yes, we are worried. We saw two men enter your home.”

Her eyebrow raised. “Men enter my home from time to time.”

“Apologies, this is not an attempt to squash your independence. However, these men are unknown. They have wandered around these streets for the past few days and certain rumors... Well, they could be dangerous.”

She laughed loudly. Startling the two men. She cleared her throat once she regained her composure. “How noble of you,” She tucked her cellphone into the waistband of her skirt. “But it is not at all necessary. They’re just a couple of tourists.” 

“Not according to our information.” He moved forward then, trying to enter the pub. She grabbed his shoulder in order to stop him. After a tense moment he placed his hand on top of hers and attempted to move it. She tightened her grip on his shoulder. 

“I would really appreciate it if you and your friend would leave,”she said evenly, nodding at the muscle. After the truce they were never this pushy. Of course having Captain America scoping out your turf would make one a little nervous, still, she at least expected that they’d assume she wouldn’t sell them out.

The man sighed then let go of her hand. He backed away. “Pierre, if you would be so kind.”

The larger man cracked his knuckles before moving forward. 

“What is this a movie?” She grabbed Pierre’s right hand as he reached for her and twisted, easily breaking his hand. She held on to his hand as the man fell to the ground and thought, Who the fuck actually names someone Pierre? Auguste screamed. She realized then that they didn’t understand what she could do. Maybe they figured the last guy she’d fucked up was a fluke? And anyway she wasn’t asking for much, just that they didn’t cause trouble, and that she wasn’t interested in their protection. It wouldn’t matter, they were the bulk of her customers, any protection money she paid them would be half theirs already anyway.

Still holding Pierre’s hand she pulled out her phone. She was only joking about them needing an ambulance earlier, but one was unavoidable now.

* * *

“Damn.” Sam muttered as he stroked his goatee. 

James whistled.

He and James huddled together, watching the feed from the smart watch. Sam was once again happy that James’ had cut his hair. For reasons that boggled Sam the smell of James shampoo drove him crazy. At least with it short when James got close Sam didn’t have to risk the man’s hair flopping down. And for whatever reason James always got close. Like they didn’t have personal space back in the 30’s or something. Granted, the smart watch screen was super tiny. But didn’t super soldiers have enhanced eyesight or whatever? 

Sam groaned internally. Now he was pretty certain he could smell James’ colonge, why the fuck was he even wearing any? How does that help with battle readiness? He made such a fuss over this being a trap. Grumbled about how the particular pair of cargo pants he was wearing didn’t have enough room for his 7th knife. But cologne? Yeah that’ll be super useful in the fight against the enhanced.  
  
Focus. 

Sam stopped messing with his goatee and sat up straight in his chair. He assumed that Christine (which yeah, probably a false name but he had to call her something) wouldn’t need help since she didn’t ask for any, and he was right. They couldn’t hear the crack of the man’s bones but the motion itself brought the sound to mind. The Hydra’s teeth, or The Teeth as they commonly called themselves, sounded like some knock off. Like the red headed step child of The Foot from TMNT. It wasn’t menacing. But he had seen videos. 

Members had enhanced physicality. According to James some looked stronger and faster than he was, then even Steve was in his prime. Sam had read reports about ones that could levitate themselves, or manipulate electricity. But operatives of those sort never lasted long before their bodies were consumed by the power. Still, it was a start. After decades someone had hit the super serum lottery. It wasn’t the strangest thing he’s seen since becoming an Avenger but oddly enough that made Sam more wary. Weird shit caught everyone’s attention, and thus was handled swiftly. But these enhanced combatants could slip under the radar, just like Christine had. Which meant they had no idea how many years this new threat was in the making.

James sucked his teeth. Christine dragged the man out of her pub, still holding on to his hand. The camera feed switched to an outdoor camera. She released him and he stumbled backwards, cradling his arm to his chest. The shorter man followed, cowering behind him. The angle was all wrong for Sam to read her lips, but whatever she said really set the big guy off. He stood, ignoring his pain and took a swing at her with his good hand. She parried his punch and then moved in to push him in the center of his chest. He fell to the ground and looked up at her. She said something that sent him crawling as fast as he could in the opposite direction. The shorter man scrambled after him. 

James tapped Sam’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “Let’s go.”

“To do what?” Sam asked. Clearly she had things handled. “She’ll be back up in a minute.”

James rolled his eyes. “You just don’t want to deal with the stairs.” 

Sam shrugged. “No one’s stopping you from going on your own.” 

James groaned as he straightened. He made his way to the door. “Lead man..”

Sam grinned. “I’m a hands off sorta leader.” He waved the smart watch. “I can see everything I need too right here anyway.” 

* * *

Bucky was glad Sam decided not to tag along. The way things were shaping up he wasn’t certain that he’d get this woman alone. She was their best lead right now, and Sam already seemed to take a liking to her. So he’d be the ‘good cop’ Bucky would be the ‘bad’. Whatever, he wasn’t interested in getting chummy with random women anyway. 

Laurent locked the front door before acknowledging him. “I was gonna come back up,” she said in English.

Bucky responded in kind. “You let them go.”

“I know where they live.”

He pursed his lips. They could have used some witnesses other than her, this felt like she was trying to protect them to him. 

“You don’t approve?” She shook her head, and began to move past him. “I promise you that whatever you think is happening the situation is about 75 % less complicated.” 

“These people we’re dealing with. That you claim to be running from, are the real deal.” He moved to follow her. “I just need to know if you’re gonna level with us or if you’re gonna yank us around.”

She stopped at the foot of the stairs, turing half way around to look at him. “And you would know because?” 

“I used to be one of them.”

She scoffed. “Bullshit, I mean yeah they do a good impression but Hydra’s dead. Your people made sure of that. ” She didn’t look convinced. Bucky figured that at best she’d noticed something and hadn't put 2+2 together yet. At worst, well, that’s what he was here for. 

“My people aren’t infallible.”

“You doubt Ms Romanoff’s ability to be thorough?” 

Bucky bristled. He hadn’t gotten the chance to know Natasha as well as he would have liked. She visited him in Wakanda with Steve from time to time. Seemed nice. Dodgy, but that came with the business. Either way he was certain that she, like Sam, would have Steve’s back. And that’s half of what he needed to have a high opinion of her. The rest came from a quiet night, side by side, watching the stars. Incorrectly he assumed that he’d have time to ask questions, to compare notes. But at the moment the press of her shoulder against his human one said enough. “Keep her name out your mouth.” His tone was darker than he intended. 

She turned to fully face him, her grin made his stomach clench. Whatever it is that she knew it was more than she should’ve. He could take her this instant, whatever strength she had it didn’t seem that she was one of the ones that surpassed him. No, those fuckers had the size to match. Whatever abilities she’d gained from her experimentation strength wasn’t her forte, just a side effect. Her abilities weren’t the threat right now. There was a knowledge gap.

“Hey!” Wilson poked his head out of the door upstairs. He took a sip from a wine glass, red. Laurent probably had a bottle from a company that Sam didn’t recognize. “Don’t make me come down there and break you two up.”

Laurent’s face softened as she turned to look up at Sam. “Please tell me you didn’t open a new bottle.”

“Uhh.” Sam looked at his glass. “I didn’t open a new bottle?”

Her shoulders slumped before she began to march up the stairs. “I was saving one of those.”

Bucky followed. She behaved like nothing happened. It was aggravating. 

“I mean you had a few, odds are it wasn’t one you were saving.” Sam offered her the glass once she reached the top of the stairs.

She took it and took a sip. The roll of her eyes was so exaggerated that she tilted her head back. “You motherfucker.” 

“Really?” Sam’s face lit up as he retrieved his glass. Damn it he’s flirting again. She’s flirting, back. This was stupid. 

Laurent made a show of stomping back into her apartment. “That was a $200 bottle. You’re helping me finish it.”

Sam shrugged before taking another sip from his glass, a smile tugging at his lips. “Yes, Ma’am.” 

This would devovle into something even more stupid if Bucky weren’t here to create a gap. And Bucky wanted no part of it. 

“You’re helping too Mr. Barnes,” she called from somewhere in her kitchen.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the way I’m writing this isn’t too confusing. There will be flashbacks, mostly from the original characters pov. And I will try to keep any changes in pov split up by scenes. So the same character will be called multiple things by different people.


	3. Chapter 3

After a little coaxing (and a lot of some unidentified liquor that Christine wouldn’t let Sam touch) James warmed up to shooting the shit with an ex...whatever she was. Even volunteered a story after she bullied him into downing a fifth shot. Watching James relax as he spoke made this little detour worth it. James was either off or on with people. A trait that Steve described as new. ‘Bucky was always the more outgoing one. Made friends like it was the easiest thing in the world.’ Steve had told Sam. It seemed true enough within their inner circle, but Sam had never seen James warm up this easily. And as happy as that made him, it also kinda made him jealous, though surely the alcohol had to have something to do with it.

Christine winked at Sam. Fuck. Was he staring? He was totally staring. Sam’s eyes flicked back over to James. James’ eyes were closed, the skin next to his eyes crinkled as he laughed. Yeah, Sam was jealous. It was one thing for him to open up to women on the team, but to go from glaring daggers to cracking jokes with a woman he just met… At the time Sam had felt it’d be fine if he let James sit on the sofa with Christine while he sat on one of the armchairs across from them. James needed to feel in control of something, and playing guard dog by placing himself closer to the “threat” would satisfy that need. Somehow closer had changed from sitting on opposite sides of the sofa to scooting close enough that their knees touched.

“Alright boys.” Christine rose from the sofa to grab the half eaten plate of hors d’oeuvres from the coffee table and headed to her kitchen.

The magic was over. James’ face fell back to its neutral state as he checked his watch. “That late already?”

“It ain’t gettin any earlier,” she replied from the kitchen. “And while I don’t have to start work till eleven I’m sure you two have a full day ahead of yourselves.”

Three in the morning was well past their bedtime. Sam stood and stretched, suddenly feeling his age. He groaned.

“You alright?” James asked, his eyes filled with concern. He did that sometimes, looked at Sam like he was made of glass. Sam wasn’t sure if he should find it endearing.

“Am I alright?” Sam scoffed. “Are you gonna be alright after that shit you drank?”

James stood up defiantly, and then wobbled a little. “I’m, I’m alright.” His cute ass had the audacity to blush. Sam contemplated asking Christine for a flask of whatever it was she gave him.

“It’ll burn off in a bit,” She said as she turned on the water in her sink. “You have to keep drinking to keep the buzz going, but at least it does something.”

Sam shook his head. He grabbed their assorted glasses and brought them to the kitchen. “I do not envy that part of the whole super powered thing.”

She smiled at him and accepted the glasses, placing them gently into the soapy water. “It can’t be all good. Let me finish this and I’ll walk you out.”

Sam leaned against the countertop and watched her wash dishes for a moment. She flicked water at him before handing him a dishtowel. Catching the hint he went to work drying off the dishes after she rinsed them. He found her attractive, so it stood to reason that other men would. It stood to reason that James could as well. Nobody was dating anybody, nobody had confessed to anybody, so nobody had reason to feel jealous. He had no reason to feel jealous just because Bucky had opened up a little.

Christine bumped Sam lightly with her hip. “Don’t go falling asleep on me now.”

Sam blinked out of his trance, he looked over to see her looking up at him with a quizzical stare. Smirking he said. “You sure you didn’t slip me a little somethin stronger?”

She chuckled as she went back to rising off the last glass. “Honey, you drank a whole bottle.” She leaned in a bit closer as she passed the glass to Sam. Whispering she said, “Now let's finish this up and get you in bed before Terminator over there-” she gestured mildly to James, “-activates his lazer beams and bores some holes in my skull. K?”

* * *

The walk from Christine’s to their hotel dragged on. The hotel was on the cusp. They needed to be close enough to the shady parts of town to make scouting easy, but far enough that normal tourists would patronize the establishment. Walking, or even driving, the couple of miles it took to cover the distance was easy. And although Sam’s bed was calling him he was glad that they walked. He needed to burn off what he drank somehow.

It was a nice place, the owners probably tried extra hard to please guests wary of the location with amenities, it was also pretty cheap. Sam didn’t mind spending company money, but he felt no need to go overboard about everything. Even so they were able to afford two nice rooms and even had space in the budget for room service.  
  
He’d left Redwing to patrol the area surrounding their hotel but wasn’t really expecting any trouble, not so soon anyway. He supposed after what happened at Christine’s he should have expected something. No, to be fair, he was so currently focused on getting in bed that if not for Redwing’s assistance he would have waltzed right by the goon scopeing their hotel out from a nearby rooftop.

“What the fuck” James murmered, he peeked over Sam’s sholder at the control panel on Sam’s forearm. The spiciness of whatever he’d drank was still on his breath. Sam forced himself not to focus on what it would taste like if he turned to steal a kiss, that fourth glass wine he had earlier had to still be in his system.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Sam grumbled as he led the way to a more secluded street corner. Redwing had identified three lookouts in the nearby area. Taking them down would be easy, but Sam was wary now. “Christine's sofa was pretty comfortable.” Sam added as he continued to look at his control panel. He used his thumb and forefinger to resize the map on his screen.

“No,” James replied.

“Only for one night.”

“Please, no.”

The pain in James’ voice caused Sam to look up. “I thought you two were getting along?”

“Sam, what if it’s a trap.” James crossed his arms across his chest. “I mean, a real trap this time.”

Sam’s eyebrow rose. “You still tipsy?”

“No..?”

“Then why would she waste a good opportunity to incapacitate you? The both of us?”

James huffed then uncrossed his arms. He placed his hands on his hips, shifting his weight a little.

“Look. We go in, just for appearances sake. I’ll send Redwing to make a ruckus, and while the look outs are distracted we sneak out the back with our things. Deal?”

James narrowed his eyes at Sam. “No deal.”

“Got a better idea?”

“Why don’t we just take care of the problem?” James gestured to the sky with his right hand.

Sam had turned off the map on his console. There was no longer a need to fuss over the details now that he’d made up his mind. “Cuz they don’t need to know we know.”

James ran his hand through his hair in frustration. He groaned when it came up short.

“You miss the length don’t cha.” Sam teased.

James rolled his eyes in a vain attempt to cover a lopsided grin.

Sam reached up to tug on the lock of hair that flopped onto James’ forehead. “It looks cute like this too.”

James’ eyes turned the prettiest shade of blue when he blushed . Would be assassins were waiting for them on rooftops and all Sam could think of was slate blue. He’d congratulate himself on making James blush if he were allowed to feel this awe, this want, but he wasn’t. He’d made his mind up about that a long time ago.

“Come on,” he turned, in time he hoped, to hide any emotion on his face and headed towards their hotel, “Nights not getting any longer.”

* * *

It took a few minutes for Laurent to appear at her back door. She had obviously rushed to answer it, and was not happy about it judging by her scowl. Bucky wished she’d taken a bit more time. She came down in nothing but a robe and hair bonnet. How she got her massive crown of hair under said bonnet was a mystery for another time. Either way it should make her look like someone's mom, except both were silk (because people actually wore those outside of romance movies??). The deep sapphire blue of the robe matched her skin tone well. And her skin, for whatever reason, glowed way more than it did when she had make up on. The smell of rose water wafted over from where she stood. If he had a more sensitive nose it would have been overwhelming. For the moment though, it was just aggravating. It had to be a set up, except Bucky never knew a woman that tried to seduce anyone with a murderous expression. He didn’t like relying on an ex...whatever she was for shelter. What he didn’t like more was how Sam smirked when she opened the door.

She placed one hand on her hip and another on her door frame. The movement made the already loosely tied silk robe she wore open up a bit more. “Do I want to know?”

Sam shrugged before leaning in. “Nah, it’s too long of a story.”

Her sour mood didn’t improve. “You aren’t cute Wilson.”

Undeterred Sam gingerly tugged the sides of her robe back to a more secure placement. “I’m super cute.”

She scoffed before backing away and stared gloomily at the suitcase near Bucky’s feet. “And you’re okay with this too?”

Bucky averted his eyes. “Not my call.”

She huffed once more before going back up the stairwell. “I’m gonna regret this.”

Sam wasted no time grabbing his things to follow after her. Bucky took a deep breath before following after Sam.

“My sofa pulls out to a queen and I have a twin sized day bed in my office.” she said as they entered her apartment.

“Sorry, I gotta ask,” Bucky stopped at the entrance, his bags still in his hands. He was ready to dash off at a moments notice and had no bones about letting her or Sam know it.

She stopped and turned towards Bucky, curiosity overwhelming her annoyance.

“What’s with the flower smell?”

“Flower?...Oh, “She shook her head. “It’s probably my face cream? I got one of them zillion step beauty routines.”

Bucky’s eyebrow rose.

Christine gestured to her face. “It doesn't keep it self man.”

Sam laughed. “So you aren’t actually like 24 then?”

Laurent’s mood finally brightened. “Thank god right? 30’s are the new 20’s anyway. I’m gonna get some sheets.” She said before moving deeper into her apartment.

Sam gave Bucky a look. Bucky returned the look with one of his own.

“You okay man?” Sam asked. Sam had long since set his things down and out of the way.

Now Bucky felt like a heel. “I’m good, just tired.”

“Right…” he gestured for one of Bucky’s bags. Relenting Bucky gave him one. “Flip you for the daybed?”

“Actually,” Laurent said as she returned to the room. Her hands laden with sheets and blankets. “Whoever is tallest should take the sofa. Both mattresses are memory foam so comfort isn’t a problem. Length though...”

“Oh?” Sam sounded impressed. He moved to help her with her load. “Get guests often?”

“The occasional stray. Better my sofa when they need to run away for a few days than a gang. That and well, life’s too short for back pain.”

“Amen to that.”

“For someone trying to lay low you sure are going out of your way to help people.” It came out harsher than Bucky meant. He regretted it immediately, Sam’s look of disappointment made the regret sting even more.

She shrugged before starting the process of rearranging her furniture. “Shit happens. And then you gotta decide if the person you were matters more than the person you want to be. Now come on, give me a hand with this.”

Bucky complied. She hadn’t done anything worth being so judgemental over. Yet...his traitorous brain supplied. Yeah, yet was the sticking point. Because whatever she’d done, or had been coerced to do, in the past, well, if anyone knew about how that could fuck a person up it was him. But here she was, living a fairly stable and uneventful life, and the only reason why they were now involved in her life was that she’d asked them to help her keep it. The mood was too awkward for a sorry.

“Damn.” Sam gestured to the bed. “Forget the day bed, we could probably both fit on here.”

Laurent laughed. “I understand that you’re trying to be unobtrusive but even if you could I’m gonna say don’t bother.”

“He’s not wrong,” Buccky supplied, though he wasn’t up to the task of sharing a bed with Sam right now.

She looked at Sam first and then turned to look at Bucky. “I guess the fight has you two joined at the hip or whatever but this thing-,” she pointed to the pull out bed, “-has a weight limit.”

“You sayin I’m fat?” Sam said with mock outrage.

She rolled her eyes before starting the process of putting sheets onto the mattress. “I’m saying the two of you are too beefy to fit.”

Sam laughed.

  
“Now if it pleases you Adonis,” she said to Sam with playful snark. “Can we finish making the bed for Hercules here.” She jerked her thumb at Bucky. “Before we get the twin ready for you?”

“And now I’m the short one?” Sam said while helping her make the pull out bed. How the hell one flirts while handling bed linens Bucky would never understand.

She shrugged. “Just by a few inches.”

“I am not shorter than him,” Sam retorted.

“Guys…” Bucky tried to interject. He was ignored.

  
“You’re totally shorter than him,” she said while making hospital corners with the blanket and top sheet.

“Guys???” Bucky tried again.

Sam had given up making the bed. “You’re shorter than both of us, what do you know?”

“No one’s gonna judge if the Captain’s shorter than the Sargent …” She was way too amused by this but somehow Sam wasn’t seeing it.

“Hey!!” Bucky shouted, capturing their attention. They looked at him expectantly.

After a beat Laurent smiled at him, small and secretive. Like she had figured something out. “I’m gonna get some pillows,” she said before wandering off.

Bucky did his best not to melt into the floor while he waited for her to return.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so...like....this is gonna be flashback city for a bit.

  
Running’s for the fucking birds.

She set strict rules for herself once she secured her freedom because she knew she’d have to fight for it again one day. She knew the training they’d beat into her, the new body they’d constructed, and the mind that they’d altered wouldn’t last on its own. If she were forced to face them again(and she desperately hoped that she wouldn’t) she’d have to stay sharp. So if that meant doing ungodly things, like going for a morning run, so be it.

She wore the same outfit every morning but with mild variations. Dark sports bra, white t-shirt, random colored yoga pants. Today’s pair was light blue. She didn’t bother much with her hair. Just gave the flat twists from the night before a spritz with leave in conditioner. She’d untwist and fluff it out before starting work. And it probably took a bit longer to find her running shoes than she’d like because she didn’t want to turn on the lights in the living room(Barnes was a snorer, who’d a thought). But other than that? Peachy. No need to let a pair of roving super heroes ruin her routine.

Her morning run was fairly short, just long enough to warm her muscles, and she hated every second of it. There was, of course, the physical aspects of running. The way it caused her lungs to constrict, the way her ankles stung as her feet touched the ground, the way her knees buckled. All memories of how her body reacted to running in her previous life. Her new body didn’t react so negatively to the activity but the memory of such discomforts still burned. They reminded her that she had been changed. That regardless of how powerful she was now it wasn’t by choice.

She almost ran past her destination. The Mokrani boxing gym was a blessing. It was small and old fashioned, but it served her needs. Primarily the need to not call attention to herself. After batting away offers to compete under the gym’s banner she was left well enough alone. And after accepting a part time position as a self defence instructor, gained the added benefit of her own pair of keys. A privilege she tried hard not to abuse, although there were a few restless nights were punching something into oblivion was the only way to calm down.

She turned off her music and pulled out her ear buds before entering the building. A bell chimed as she opened the door, announcing her arrival.

“Morning Chris!” Mr Mokrani called cheerfully from the other side of the gym. Pushing eighty, his skin was tan and weathered like old leather. He’d lived in Marseille for decades but still had an Algerian accent when he spoke French.

“Morning,” she replied, then waved at the smattering of men that had already started their routines. She was the late arrival. Most people's morning workouts began before the sun rose, but even a new body couldn’t change the fact that she wasn’t a morning person.

“Need me to get the bag ready?” he asked as he approached her, arms outstretched.

“Nah, you know I got it.” She leaned over so that they could touch cheeks.

He leaned over as well, making kissing noises while doing so. “Let me feel like a man every once n’ a while, yeah?” he asked, his voice jovial.

She grinned at him. “I’ll let the Mrs. know you’re feeling emasculated then.”

Mr. Mokrani held his stomach as he laughed. “Then at least let my son wrap your hands.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay.”

“Don’t be smart. Go on,” He lightly pushed her forward.

She didn’t resist and wandered over to the left side of the gym where Mr. Mokrani’s son was jumping rope. It seemed rude to interrupt another person’s work out so she made her way to the benches behind him. Rabah was a bit older than she was. And although he was the second son he was the spitting image of his father as a young man, as well as the one set to inherit the gym. He nodded to her as she passed him. Five minutes after she sat he finished with the rope and turned to come in her direction.

  
“You really shouldn’t let him baby you like that.”

She smiled softly before moving to stand. “You know how your pops is Rabah.” She said, holding out her hands.

“I know, does not change the fact that you could probably bench press every man in this room.” He shook his head and moved past her to grab the tape from a crate under the bench. “Also,” he added as he grabbed one of her hands and began the wrapping process. “Try not to break the bag this time. Okay? I appreciate you buying us new ones but Remmy’s tired of sweeping up the sand.”

She scoffed. “You say that like I break them all the time,” she emphasized the word all.

Rabah gave her a look. “You are in a mood Christine.”

“A mood?”

“A mood-” He squeezed her hand before she could respond. “Yes, a mood. No I do not want to know what caused it. Just center yourself before you start.”

“Yes Master,” she replied, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “I shall try my hardest to reach enlightenment.”

* * *

  
217 couldn’t remember her name. It was a silly revelation considering the circumstances. A man was now dead. And she was the one that killed him.

She had somehow gotten used to the appearance of top secret research facilities.  
They had come to retrieve...steal a very specific chemical compound. Her team was in a particularly sterile hallway. All dressed in the requisite black and more black of their organization, with only a red armband for decoration/indicator of rank. And she was on point.

They could have waited for this researcher to wander off but she was given the order to kill. 217 took notice of his lanyard while doing so. Dr. Michel Segal. She didn’t know him but reading his name caused the snap. Suddenly she began to wonder about her own name, because surely a random sequence of numbers didn’t count as one. Not a proper one anyway. And her parents were proper enough people to give her a proper enough name.

Her name didn’t return to her but damn near everything else did. She dropped the body then shook her head in disgust. “This is ridiculous,” she said under her breath.

“Number 217” The man’s voice was lighter than his size suggested. But as big as he was he wasn’t the biggest she’d ever seen. He at least didn’t top seven feet. In exchange he had more rationality than the others of his class. He stalked over to her.

She turned to look at him, fighting back the urge to flinch as he glowered down at her, the fluorescent lighting gave his olive skin a greenish cast. “Number 12.”

12’s brown eyes grew darker as he analyzed her. They weren’t allowed a full range of emotions. Regardless, he never liked her, and wasn’t shy about it for reasons that were baffling. There was little time for like or dislike in the barracks. As a senior member of the organization he was put in charge of training from time to time. She had few memories of performing badly in his sessions but plenty of him signaling her out for disciplinary action.

She took the risk of ignoring him and turned her attention to the willowy woman bringing up the rear. “Number 105 have you received the signal yet?”

The woman looked stunned, her blue eyes wide as she looked from 12 to 217.

12 grabbed 217’s arm hard enough to hurt, then forced her to to look at him. He searched her eyes. “You are insubordinate,” he whispered tensely.

She realized now that he wasn’t upset, he was afraid. And he better well be because she was done. It wasn’t just the lack of memories that kept them subdued, it was the beatings, the tourture, the over all cruelty of those who’d taken them. But she remembered a life before such treatment, and she remembered how panicked the scientists would get when she exhibited signs of remembering that life. Now those memories helped set her free.

12 knew and that knowledge scared him. He tightened his grip. He could break her arm, but she had no more time for fear. No time for doubt. She was the 217th tooth and she was loose.

She returned her attention to the other woman. “105? We can not proceed without 300’s signal.”

105 blinked before bringing a finger to her ear. “300. 300 report.”

“That is disconcerting,” she said flatly. I can use this, she thought.

“What are you doing?” 12 growled. He still held her arm tightly.

“Continuing the mission.” she replied, her voice still flat. This shocked 12 enough that he let go of her arm. Her dark skin didn’t show bruises easily, now there was a black imprint where his hand had gripped her. She ignored the urge to rub her arm and once again returned her attention to 105. “One...no perhaps at least two of us may have to see what is going on. Without the power outage we can not retrieve the sample.”

105’s eyes flicked to 12. Technically 12 was supposed to be in charge as a senior member.

“You will go 217, and I will accompany you.” 12 said. He gestured to the body on the floor, and then said to 105 “Clean this up.”

217 checked her weapons before moving back down the hallway. Ignoring how closely 12 followed her, and how his eyes bore holes into her skull. She had no choice but to move now, she had been let outside of the compound, she was fully armed. So was everyone else, but whatever. She’d just have to run. She fucking hated running.

Fuck….. She hated running! Despite everything it wasn’t just her memories she’d regained but her personality as well. She quickly turned an amused chuckle into a cough and made a right turn to follow yet another overly sterile hallway.

“Do you know where you are going?” 12 asked.

“I know.” she answered. They had all looked at the map before departing. She remembered it. She would probably remember the layout of this building for the rest of her life. Her brain worked like that now.

  
The team had split up earlier. Number 300 was tasked with finding the utility room and cutting the power. The utility room was supposed to be empty this time of night but something must have gone wrong. Not that it was surprising. Number 300 was defective. No. That is not how you think about people. That is how they think about people. How the Commander thought about people who didn’t immediately dance to her tune. You do not do that.

12 heard the voices first. He yanked her by the shoulder so that he could take the lead position. She ignored his unnecessary roughness and happily let him take the lead. The voices argued back and forth about if one of their members actually saw someone and they were coming closer.

“Psst,”

The sound from up above was soft. 217 looked up to see bright eyes peering at her from a vent.

“300?”

There was yelling from behind her, and then a muffled gunshot. 12 had taken care of the three approaching them. Two researchers and a man in a security outfit. It was the security officer that was armed. Somehow 12 had taken the gun from the officer and shot him with it first. The other two bodies were pretty mangled. 217 could not look for long. Dared not do more than quickly glance.

“The others will hear the gunshot,” she said as impassibly as she could. 12 shrugged in response. She felt selfish and stupid. She should be stopping this slaughter but it was all she could imagine to just get away.

300 jumped from the vent. Despite being modified his posture, all hunched over into himself, gave him an air of frailty. His eyes were large and over bright, they shifted rapidly.

“We lost contact 300.” 217 said, sounding stern. 300 stood at attention. She wasn’t above him. Not like how 12 was above all of them on this mission. But he still responded to the sound of authority. “Status report.”

“The proposed route was blocked.”

“And you did not update us because?”

“The civilians were too close to my location. I was worried that they might over hear since I was advised to avoid contact.”

“You were also given orders to kill as necessary. Next time use it.” 12 said

217 held back a sigh of relief. She worried for a moment that 12 might kill 300 because of the delay. “105, do you copy?” she asked pressing the communicator in her ear

“I copy.” 105 responded.

“The plan will progress soon, get in position.” 217 looked to 12 for assurance. “300 will be heading your way as back up. “

12 nodded. 300 scurried off, eager to distance himself from 12’s presence.

The utility room was straight ahead. 12 had once again relinquished the lead to her. Probably to keep an eye on her. She lamented the lack of time to mentaly prepare herself as she forced open the utility room door. She only had one chance and that was when the power went out. The darkness would provide some cover, unfortunately nowhere near enough to make this easy. She touched the communicator once more. “105?”

“We are in position.”

217 nodded to 12 and then grabbed the main breaker. He flipped the breakers leading up to the main one. It was like a countdown. Calm washed over her. One more breaker to go on his end and then it was her turn. A gun fired as the compound went dark.

Her hand was now stuck inside of the sandbag. She pulled it out and shook it. The removal of her hand caused sand to spill onto the floor. A drawn out groan was followed by uncontrollable laughter. Mr. Mokrani and his son had different reactions to the situation.

* * *

  
Bucky wouldn’t admit it out loud but he severely underestimated the comfort of this pull out bed. When Laurent boasted about the mattresses last night he thought “Memory foam or no it couldn’t be that comfortable”. It was that comfortable. He like needed one of these memory foam things in his apartment. He wondered if they made pillows out of this stuff cuz god damn. And that was how he apparently missed Laurent tipping out of her apartment that morning. A fact that disturbed Sam greatly because now he was pacing in her kitchen.

“Sam.” Bucky had yet to get out of bed, he lay on his back with his arm over his eyes.

“Yeah,” Sam answered tersely

“She’s an adult.”

“Yeah!” Sam repeated, not at all comforted by that fact.

  
“So, I’m sure that she has things that she needs to do. And it’s not like she’s helpless.” Sam didn’t answer so Bucky continued. “No one’s going to make a move during the day time anyway.”

Sam sighed. “I know you’re right.”

“So stop mother henning.”

“Excuse you?”

“Yeah I said it.”

Sam groaned in disgust. Bucky held back his laughter. Despite everything else he rather appreciated the fact that Sam would worry about a person they'd just met. Sure it was unwise considering how little they knew of her past, but it was undeniably heroic, undeniably Samuel Thomas Wilson, and pretty much why Bucky stayed in the fight. Someone had to keep the better angels of Sam’s nature from getting him killed.

“Go take a shower,” Bucky suggested. “I don’t feel like getting up yet so you go first.”

“How generous of you,” Sam groused. “Fine.” He deserted his look out post from the kitchen and headed to the bathroom.

Bucky rolled back on to his side and closed his eyes. That ought to get him fifteen minutes, maybe twenty if the water pressure was as good as this mattress.


	5. Chapter 5

She’d never taken a self defence class. It was something she’d thought about doing in her past life but just never took the time. And thankfully she was never put in a position where she regretted not doing so. The compound taught her how to fight, more specifically how to kill. So she learned what she taught in self defence class at Mokrani’s via youtube videos. Most movements were simpler variations of techniques she knew. And Rabah was very forgiving when she used a bit too much force on him during demonstrations. It helped that she never charged him for drinks at the tavern.

Outside of matches with the guys at the gym she hadn’t done anything close to what she’d call fighting for good bit. It was enough to escape or dissuade. Even the muscle Auguste tried to sic on her didn’t count as a threat. So she was tickled when a strong arm wrapped around her neck and tried to drag her into an alley. Using what she’d learned recently she was able to toss him over her shoulder, and only over her shoulder. She would have followed up by crushing his windpipe, but she was no longer at the compound. She didn’t need to kill just because.

The man hit the cobblestones with a worrying crack. Upon closer inspection it was the stones that had cracked, not the man. And here she was, maybe 5 minutes into her jog home, staring down at the trouble that was overdue considering last night's events. The man stood, eyeing her warily. He was a slight thing with dark hair, and dark circles under his dark eyes.

They were attracting a crowd, at best someone would call the authorities, at worse she’d end up on instagram. Whoever this guy was, if he was what she figured, it’d be best if her fight with him stayed off the internet. She dashed into the nearby alley, not caring if he followed. Using her slight lead to her advantage she scrambled up a nearby wall. The dark man stopped his chase, looking around for her until some instinct told him to look up. She pushed off the wall to land behind him. He turned to watch her as she straightened her posture and began to chuckle. That chuckle turned into a loud laugh.

She put some distance between her and the crazy he radiated.

“Apologies 217. You startled me.” he spoke english, his voice disturbingly deep.

“Can we not?” she asked.

“Pardon?”

“This,” she gestured from him to her. “I’m guessing you are here to capture or kill. And that’s-” she gestured loosely, “- whatever, but the talking is unnecessary.”

He tilted his head as he inspected her. “You are surprisingly antisocial.”

“No, I just have a life I’d like to get back to. So if you’d like to get started?”

“I am 216 by the way.” He reached out a hand for a shake. “We come from the same..er...litter. Do you not remember?”

She didn’t return the greeting. “You specifically? No,” she lied. She remembered seeing his face now that she had a good look at it. “You ask that question like they let us mingle.”

He huffed and retracted his hand. “True.”

“Done reminiscing?” she took her stance. If he wasn’t going to attack she would.

“No. I have questions. But if I do not return your corpse soon I fear they’d decommission me next.”

“What is going on here?” an officer yelled. He wasn’t alone, she could hear two more sets of feet behind her.

“What did he say?” 216 asked. He looked to the officers behind her.

She squinted at him. Glancing backwards she answered the officer in French. “Nothing Sir. I have this under control.”

“Not everyone had their minds enhanced in the same way,” 216 explained. “I’m jealous. I have always wanted to learn another language. Like german fo-”

“Shut it,” she snapped before dashing forward, swinging wildly on purpose. Like she hoped he backed away. The more distance between them and these officers the better.

216 retaliated. She didn’t bother to dodge. The blow hurt even though she leaned with the punch to defect the impact. Like the rest of her kind his strength had been enhanced. Unfortunately for him he wasn’t the fighting type. He’d put too much into his blow, leaving him off balance since it didn’t solidly connect. She countered with a swift jab to his chin followed by a hook that sent him to the ground. She pounced on him then, punching him hard and fast with both hands. She did not hear the officers yell behind her, did not stop when they tried to grab at her arms. If not for the sound of a familiar voice she may not have stopped at all.

“Miss Laurent! Please!”

She sighed as she rose from the body. He was breathing, for now, if she’d been left alone for a few more seconds, maybe not. Considering the circumstances she wasn’t sure if she should be glad for it. She didn’t want to kill. Liked not having to kill. But if he’s any indication she may have to.

One of the officers tried to grab hold of her arm, she yanked it from his grasp. “Captain,” She nodded to a woman in her fifties.

The captain wasn’t in uniform. She wore pressed grey slacks with a maroon button down shirt instead. Her badge shined at her hip.

The Captain shook her head. “Cuff him,” she gestured to the dark man.

“But Madam,” one of the officers protested. “Surely this man needs medical attention.”

“Later!” the Captain barked. “Cuff him for now.”

“That won’t hold him when he wakes up,” she advised.

The Captain arched her brow, then amended her command. “Call it in. We’ll need the power suppressing manacles.”

“Yes Madam!” the officer snapped to attention before grasping his radio to send the message. The other two officers busied themselves with restraining 216.

The Captain returned her attention to the woman. Placing her hands on her hips she gave her a disapproving once over. “Before I ask for an explanation, fix your face.”

My face? She thought. Her eyebrow had been cut in the scuffle, it bled sluggishly, slowly dripping down her face. She lifted her shirt to dab at the bleeding and groaned in disgust. 216’s blood splatter was all over it. She pulled the shirt off and balled it up before pressing a relatively clean section over her eye.

“So I can’t say too much here now,” she started. “But I’ll be sure to send some proper help your way.”

“Proper help?” the Captain shifted her weight. “You mean you aren’t gonna clean up this mess you started?”

“I didn’t start shit,” she said bitterly.

“Language.”

She refrained from rolling her eyes. “Anyway, the hero community is already on the lookout for-”

“You going official now?” The Captain’s eyes hazel eyes sparkled. It was an old joke between them. But the Captain brought it up whenever she could. “Am I gonna see you in spandex on the news?”

“Ha!” She grimaced as her cut stung. “ No. I’d look horrible in it anyway.”

The Captain snorted. “Doubt it.”

“I’m gonna tell your wife on you…..”

“She’d agree. Anyway, so who’s your contact?”

The woman didn’t answer, actually she wasn’t sure if she could answer.

“Come on lady you gotta give me a heads up,” the Captain needled. “I don’t want just anyone flying into my office.”

“Captain America.”

Stunned, the older woman dropped her hands from her hips. “Bullshit”

“Language.”

* * *

Sam would feel bad about raiding Christine’s fully stocked kitchen if James wasn’t such a good cook. Actually, he’d feel bad if she had mushrooms. Because somehow she had everything to make James’ hash brown scramble except mushrooms. And yeah it still had enough sausage, peppers, and onions to give it flavor; and to make the apartment smell amazing, but it wouldn’t be the same.

It’d been too long since they did this, just being domestic. For it to happen in the middle of a mission was proof of how out of control things had become between them. But Sam didn’t have the strength to help it. He’d cross the line before his own sense of ethics could snap him out of it, and James didn’t deserve to be jerked around like that. The two of them lived together for 8 months before James found a place of his own. They both needed constant support dealing with the aftermath of a 5 year gap. Why not rely on each other? They’d be working together anyway. But Sam fell hard.

And James kept showing flashes of interest, and Sam. Well. Sam actually hoped some distance would help. So when James brought up the idea of moving out he didn’t object. This thing with James had to be nothing more than an infatuation. How could living with someone so perfect result in anything else? Except it wasn’t, and if anything absence made the heart grow fonder. No one else matched up so Sam’d given up on trying. Fell back into the sort of dating habits that would make his 20 something year old self proud. Sure it wasn’t the healthiest coping mechanism, but it kept shit in order. He got over Steve, he’d get over James too.

  
“What did I say about hovering when I’m in the kitchen?” James asked without looking up from the skillet.

“I’m not hovering. I’m all the way over here” Sam leaned against the countertop next to the stove. He took a sip from his coffee mug and continued to pretend that he hadn’t got caught staring. It wasn’t fair how the man made the simplest things look good. It was just a v neck shirt that thankfully wasn’t too tight. Not that it needed to be in order to show him off. What made it striking was the color, a bluish grey that brought out his eyes. James had a habit of only wearing dark colors, seeing him in something soft was a treat.

James gave the food a dissatisfied flick with a wooden spatula.

“Besides, it’s a small kitchen,” Sam rationized.

James gave Sam a look and Sam had to suppress a shiver. It was like he knew everything Sam was thinking. “At least get me a bowl.”

It was a small kitchen, a one butt kitchen as Sam’s ma liked to say. He had to squeeze past James to get to the right cabinet. The light brush of his body against James was disturbingly pleasant. Sam found a bowl that he felt was large enough, he wanted to set it on the counter but James moved first. He grabbed the bowl from Sam’s grasp, his fingers brushing against Sam’s. It took everything for Sam to keep his hand steady. To let them naturally fall from the bowl as he transferred it to James. He was letting his emotional constipation get the better of him and wasn’t sure what was worse. The fact that he was holding back his emotions, or that he was aware of it. Nevermind, he knew what was worse. If they didn’t pick up anymore leads today he’d end up psychoanalyzing himself all night. The awareness sucked.

“Anything else?” Sam asked

“Toast?” James suggested, looking Sam in the eyes.

“Toast,” Sam confirmed as he set about looking for bread. Happy to have an organic excuse for looking away. The sound of the door opening caught both of their attention. Sam grinned. Finally a distraction. “Girl, how is it possible that you have everything else up here but bread and mushrooms?” he yelled.

Christine entered the kitchen, she leaned against a countertop before taking out her earphones. “Mushrooms suck, and the bakery I use hasn’t delivered yet.”

Sam looked past James and he couldn’t help but cock his head, something was off.

“You get bread delivered from a bakery….” Jam spoke flatly as he shifted the scramble from the pan to the bowl.

The work out clothes explained why she was gone that morning. Made Sam feel like shit though for skipping his own work out. Just wearing a sports bra and yoga pants was pretty bold though. Not that she didn’t have the abs for it.

“You cook?” she snarked back

It was the blood. It wasn’t much but there was some blood splatter on her right hip.She also had a cut on her face. A cut that hadn’t been there yesterday and yet somehow already turned into a thin scab.

Christine pushed off the countertop and crossed her arms over her chest. “Like what you see Wilson?” She was teasing him, he’d play along under other circumstances.

Sam moved past James so that he could stand in front of Christine. He brushed a thumb against her temple and then pinched the blood splattered fabric at her hip. “What did you do?”

* * *

Bucky would never say it out loud but he missed this. Well a part of it anyway. He liked living with Sam. Wished he still lived with Sam. Dreamed about the type of cozy domesticity that only couples have. But they weren’t a couple, and holding back because of that was the part he didn’t miss. Holding back was why he had to leave. There was something about this place that felt like home, he’d give Laurent credit for that. Somehow she did what he couldn’t after he broke free from Hydra, make a home somewhere. Granted his brain wasn’t at 100% after the crash into the Patomac, so the comparison isn't fair, but it was still impressive. This homeyness triggered something in him, in both of them. And Bucky had half a mind to take advantage. To see how far he could press his luck. Because Sam was giving him that look again, and it was maddening. Of course while he was taking his sweet time making up his mind they were interrupted.

Logically he shouldn’t be mad at the woman for entering her own home, even if her timing was unfortunate, but would it kill her to wear a shirt?

And like moth to a flame there he goes…...

To Laurent’s credit she backed away after Sam got all handsy.

“That’s a story,” she said hesitantly.

There was a timid knock at the door to Laurent’s apartment. Which was odd since that meant someone else had a key to the back door. Considering her situation he was surprised she let anyone have that much access. Laurent groaned and then turned to go open the door to her apartment. Both Sam and Bucky moved so that they could get a look, peeking around the half wall that bordered the kitchen cabinets.

  
“Hey Marc. Sorry, I’m running a bit behind.” Laurent greeted the boy in French.

Marc was the kind of kid that you weren’t sure if he was 12 or 24. But considering his reaction to Laurent’s shirtlessness 12 seemed to fit.

“Just go ahead and start setting up without me.” She instructed. “I’m gonna wash up and eat then I’ll be down. Okay?”

Marc peeked past Laurent and into her apartment. His eyes widened even further. Sam didn’t help things by waving. “So there are two of them this time?” the young man asked.

“There are two of them this time.” She responded simply. ”I’ll see you later Marc.” She closed the door in the poor boy’s face.

“I have so many questions-” Sam started

Laurent cut him off. “Can we eat while I answer them? I assume Barnes made me a portion since it’s my kitchen.”

“Yeah sure, go ahead.” Sam gestured to one of the barstools at the island that separated the kitchen from the living room. “But to start with I gotta ask. There are two of them? That’s what he said to you right?”

“This time,” she added as the took a seat. “ He said there are two of them this time.”

Sam moved to sit next to her. Grinning he lightly shoved her arm. “Like you could take both of us.”

Bucky felt a sudden urge to take a sedative. If Sam wanted to flirt whatever, but he had no desire to be pulled into it. “Please don’t.” He set Laurent’s portion in front of her before handing her a fork.

Laurent nodded her thanks to Bucky before responding. “Are you insinuating that I’d be in the middle?”

Sam looked genuinely surprised. “So...you wouldn’t be in the middle?”

What the hell is this conversation, Bucky thought.

“Boy, you know that’d be you.” Laurent pointed her fork at Bucky. “Wouldn’t it Barnes?”

Bucky didn’t like the gleam in her eyes. He placed Sam’s plate down in front of him with a bit more force than necessary. “Why are you asking me?”

“Why are you asking him?” Sam added.

“Okay, number one.” She put her fork down and started counting with her fingers. “You’re a thrill seeker,” She then turned to look at Bucky. “Number two...honestly I just wanted to see you two wig out at the suggestion of sexual activity that involved each other because I’m a bad person.” She grinned wolfishly at Bucky. “And three-”

“Three.There’s a three?” Bucky practically stomped to the other side of the kitchen so that he could sit. Laurent watched him as he moved. The asshole was enjoying this. He sat next to Sam, hoping to use Sam’s body to block her view of him.

Her grin widened as she leaned back so that she could look at Bucky. “So I have to change what I was gonna say now. Three is that its super cute that Sam is literally sitting between the two of us now.”

Bucky pinched his nose. “God damn it.”

Laurent snorted. “Language.”


	6. Chapter 6

Sam pushed down a counselor's response to Christine’s blase explanation of her morning. He wasn’t her counselor. Hell, he was barely her friend, and most likely after all this he wouldn’t see her again. An idea that concerned him. Some of it was logistics. As an enhanced person she posed some risk, even if from what he could see she kept to herself. Before the Decimation a combination of Stark’s tech and Fury’s well...just being Fury, kept a running tab on all super human activity. However, enough happened during that 5 years (understatement of the century) to create a knowledge gap, so the community had to rebuild the database from scratch. But also, he liked her? 

James didn’t. James was oddly hostile. It wasn’t unwise to be cautious, the woman carried secrets. But it was possible to be cautious without being irritable. And while James could be crabby, it didn’t normally take him this long to get to neutral with people without reason. Christine was taking James obvious dislike in stride. Something that made Sam like her even more. She wasn’t trying to butter them up. She wasn’t star struck, or alternatively wasn't super judgemental. She’d seen enough strange shit to treat them both as normal humans. Also, she had good taste in wine. 

Sam left James with Christine. Specifically with Christine, not the other way around, because he figured she’d be able to distract him from worrying too much. Enhanced or not this guy was just a lacky. And both of them weren’t needed to interrogate a lacky. Not when Sam would have an entire police department as backup. It was partially why he didn’t wear his suit . Red Wing would be within calling distance if he needed his wings, or more firepower than the metal detector proof pistol he always carried. Red wing could deliver the shield in a pinch, but the energy shield prototype should serve him well enough. Sam left, really snuck out of, Christine’s apartment before explaining all of this to James. Waiting until James was distracted by more of Christine’s antics to leave. Sam appreciated that James wanted to watch his back way more than he’d feel comfortable saying out loud. This was a dangerous business, sticking together kept them both alive longer than they had right to be. But even James knew when it was best to split up, or at least normally he did. He just wasn’t being normal right now. 

The officer at the front desk of the station was wary, she muttered curses under her breath after Sam mentioned Christine. He filed her reaction away for later. There was a story behind it, a story that would go best with a lazy evening and more of that obscenely expensive wine from Christine’s stash. Still, the officer led Sam to Captain Belrose’s office. So whatever it was that raised the officer’s hackles, her Captain trusted Christine regardless. Sam was certain that his ability to trust Christine 100% would depend whatever impression this Captain gave him. 

For all the plaques on the walls Sam was expecting someone older. Also someone male, and he had a long list of ladies that would be ready to chastise him for such an assumption, so he’d take his surprised thoughts to the grave. Belrose’s stern expression melted away as she looked up. Hopping from her chair she rushed to her door, ordering what Sam assumed to be a dismissal to the officer that showed him in.

Holding out a hand for a shake she beamed. “It’s an honor to meet you Captain!” she spoke English, which was a relief. As much as he needed the practice It would make communicating easier. 

Sam returned her handshake. “The honor is mine. I have to admit. I wasn’t expecting such an exuberant welcome.”

The woman laughed. “Honestly I’m a little disappointed. You aren’t in costume and I promised my wife a picture.”

“Really?” Sam said before grinning.“Tell you what. I’ll drop by later in full gear.”

“Yes!” The Captain pumped her fist. She blushed a little before clearing her throat and settling into a more professional demeanor. “But you came here to see the prisoner?”

“I did. But first, if you don’t mind. How do you know Ms Laurent?”

“Take a seat.” She motioned to a dark chair in front of her desk as she returned to the armchair behind it. Sam followed her instructions. “I should be asking you that question. I wouldn’t think she’d willingly associate with anyone official.” 

“It was a bit of a mistake.” Sam started as he sat down. “I was following a lead, checking out local gang activity. It was in her pub so...anyway she approached me.”

Belrose rubbed her chin as she thought things over. “Did she assume you suspected her?”

“No.”

“That is odd. Erm, I suppose it is my turn now.”

“Please.”

“It was around two years after the decimation. We lost so many good people here. I heard that the thing that did this. He wanted to save the universe?”

“He had a god complex.” Sam relaxed in his chair, slouching a little. Everyone was still traumatized by Thanos’ actions, he was still traumatized and he didn’t even do much but blink back into existence five years later. “Something about wanting to conserve resources by getting rid of half of all living things. Bullshit if you’ll excuse my French. ”

That made her laugh raucously, good. The topic was dark enough, dwelling on that darkness would help no one heal. 

“This will sound heartless,” she started after regaining control of her breathing. “But he rid us of the wrong half. Or at least here he did.” She jabbed her pointer finger into her desk. “We were overrun. Somehow common criminals got their hands on advanced weaponry. I was pinned down by rubble in the middle of a firefight. None of my men could get to me, and here she comes. She just swoops down, lifts the slab of concrete that had pinned as if it was nothing.”

“Wow.”

“Yes,” she chuckled. “Wow. With her help we were able to get the city under control. But once it was all over, and everyone came back she just wanted a normal life. Didn’t want any of the credit.”

Sam regained his posture. “You helped her create a new identity?”

The captain waved at him dismissively. “That was easily done because the world was still in chaos. And it was for the best. Mrs Laurant was alone since her husband died, and they couldn’t have children so.”

“I guess how she met Delphine Laurant is a story for another time?”

“It is a story for Christine to tell. Any other questions?”

“Naw,” He pushed off on his thighs as he stood. “Let’s go meet this number 216.”

* * *

Number 216 was creepy. He was in a secure location, a concrete room underground all strapped up in power suppressing technology. Sam and Belrose were in an adjacent room with a two way mirror. Everything was safe. But he was doing this weird rocking thing with his eyes closed, even humming a little. Sam didn’t like it. He tapped out an order for more advanced power suppressing technology on his control panel. If they were going to have to move him Sam didn’t want to take any chances. 

“How long has he been like that?” Sam asked. 

  
“He tried to break out once he woke up, but the manacles held. Perhaps two hours? “ Belrose answered. 

“Right. Well right now he is our best witness. I ordered some things that might suppress his powers better.”

“He’s contained,” she stressed the second word.

“He is, and no offence. But the Princess of Wakanda would skin me if I did not order an upgrade.” 

The Captain’s eyes bulged. “That is a story for later”

Sam smirked at her. “We keep adding to the pile.” Sam pressed the button on the table in front of them. It cleared the mirror so that 216 could see the other side. 

It took a moment but 216 stopped his movements and opened his eyes . He regarded Sam for a few heart beats. “I had no idea I was so important. Did 217 send you?”

God Sam hated chatty villains. “I am afraid I don’t know who you're talking about.” It was an obvious lie. Christine had never told him her evil organization lacky code name, but the pieces fit. 

“Oh? I suppose she would go by an actual name now.” Even with restraints his posture suggested that he’d be rubbing his chin if his hands were free. “But if you are here then you must have met her. How else would you know?”

“Knowing about people like you kinda comes with the job,” Sam responded, deadpan. He didn’t want to feed the beast, otherwise this guy would go on and on. 

216’s eyes flickered to Belrose. “Then the officer had connections?”

She just folded her arms over her chest, content to let Sam do the talking.

“Still, I am honored.” He bowed, or at least he bowed as much as he could while strapped to a chair. 

“I have some questions,” Sam started.

“And I have no answers. Or at least none that I can give and keep my life.”

“Would your organization send someone here just for you?” 

“Yes. They like to keep their secrets.”

Sam paused before answering, wondering if he should go with his instincts. “They being Hydra?”

216 scoffed. “You compare us to animals.”

“You got any evidence that I’m wrong?”

“I told you that I can not speak freely.”

“Let’s start with you then. ” Sam leaned casually against the table. “You said earlier that this 217 would go by an actual name now. What is your name?”

“You want my name?”

“Yes.”

“Not 217’s?”

“I told you that I don’t know a 217.”

216 hummed and then squinted. “I don’t believe you.”

“That’s your problem, not mine,” Sam didn’t bother to keep the lack of fucks he gave out of his tone. “Answer the question.”

“I can’t.”

Sam’s eyebrow raised. 216 spoke before Sam could ask a follow up.

“I don’t know my name. Actually, I don’t know much about myself but stats about my physical condition.”

“Physical condition?”

“Height, weight, sex, age. Things of that nature, and that is only from hearing others talk about me. 217,” he added saying the number with awe. “She probably knows her real name.”

“Why don’t you know if you think this 217 does?”

“She’s different, they had to keep wiping her.” 

The talk of wiping made Sam think of James. He doubted Hydra, and yeah maybe they called themselves Neo Hydra now or some shit but it was at least a Hydra wannabe, found a less painful method. If anything they probably relished in causing their subjects pain. 

“You are making a face,” 216 observed. “Did she tell you about the wiping?”

Sam’s voice went dark. “You know me so you know my partner.”

216’s eyes widened. “Yes, of course, of course. Apologies for my callous assumption.” He cleared his throat. “To be honest I would not mind giving you more information about myself but-”

Yes, Sam thought, I’m sure you’d talk for hours if we’d let you. “Are you okay with not knowing who you are?”

“Do I have an option? Or even the time to wonder? No, no I do not.”

“You’ve been broken.” Sam let the statement hang. “Am I right to assume that there are as many of you as you have numbers?”

216 looked away. 

“What are your abilities? “

216 didn’t answer. 

  
“Is this a question you can’t answer or won’t answer?” 

216 breathing patterns shifted. The lights flickered. 

“You can at least give me some kind of response.”

216 smirked. His eyes glazed over. “I am trying to show you.”

Creepy, the guy was just creepy. By Sam’s calculations they had a good 45 minutes until the new tech was delivered. He’d just have to hold out until then. Belrose lifted a radio to her mouth, speaking French into the receiver. From what Sam could understand she was asking for back up, asking for a sedative. Not a bad idea. He just hoped they weren’t out of time. A few officers in riot gear entered the holding cell, weapons drawn. One entered the interrogation room with a small box. He set it on the table before leaving. Belrose checked the contents of the box. She pulled out a syringe and placed it on the table. The room went dark. 

Too much happened at once. One of the officers fired a few rounds before all Sam could hear was banging and dull thumps. Belrose shouted orders at her radio, orders that soon morphed into a string of curses. It seemed the radio wasn’t working. The wall between the holding cell and the interrogation room was blown through. Sam grabbed Belrose, activating the prototype energy shield. The room was filled with a bluish light as the shield activates.

“Strange,” 216 stood in the new hole he created. He looked at Sam’s shield quizzically. 

One of the officers stumbled to their feet and held up their gun. Belrose gave the order to stand down. As 216 turned to attack the officer Sam sent the shield flying. It pushed 216 back into the holding cell and onto the ground. Even with Sam’s normal human male who keeps in top shape levels of strength the force from the vibranium shield would have sent 216 a decent distance. The energy shield couldn’t compare. Princess Shuri would have to make some adjustments. He’d be worried about having to break the bad news to her highness but she’d probably already gathered the data wirelessly and was in the middle of making version 2.0. 

“Get out of there now!” Sam ordered. The officers, some of which had just gotten to their feet, hesitated. Sam’s French wasn’t that bad. “Get out!” he repeated. The officers got the message and hurried out of the holding cell. 

“Thank you for telling them to leave.” Belrose said in French. Belrose tossed the radio to the ground. She moved to unholster her gun but paused before bending down to pick something up off the ground. She tucked it into her back pocket and then finished unholstering her firearm. Pointing it at 216.

Sam watched her curiously. “There will be less casualties that way,” he answered in kind. 

216 sat up, he didn’t bother standing. “Speak English! Why did they send me here? They know I can’t understand anything!”

The fucker was playing with them. Sam reactivated the shield. The one that he threw flickered out as a new one appeared at his arm.

“Curious….” 216 began to squint. The shield dimmed before brightening again. 

“Is this what you do?” Sam asked him, speaking English for his benefit. “Gonna have to try a bit harder for your powers to work against this? Wakandan tech is pretty hardy.”

216 scoffed. He stood slowly, brushing dust off of his pants. “I’ll figure it out in do time.”

Belrose fired and 216 swerved out of the way. Fuck he was fast, were they all that fast? Was James or Steve that fast? Sam wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen them duck a bullet before. Enhanced reflexes or no Sam could guess what was happening next. Thankfully Belrose wasn’t far away. 216 charged, slamming into the shield. Sam barely made it to cover for Belrose. She yelled as the two men fell on top of her. 

“You okay?” Sam ground out. He pushed back against 216, it was in vain but reflex kicked in. That’s another point of data for the princess, the energy shield didn't absorb force as well as the physical one. Also for him...the time for stealth had past. Next time he’s bringing the real deal. 

216 reared, bringing his arms over his head, he clasped his hands together as he prepared to swing them down . He did so, harder than his first impact. The shield held but Sam was beginning to wonder about his arm. 

“Hold on Captain!” Belrose yelled.

Like he had a choice. 216 slammed down again. Sam could feel Belrose shift her weight behind him. She flicked off the top to the sedative and stabbed it into 216’s arm. 

216 backed away, swatting at the needle in his arm. It popped off of him and clattered as it hit the floor. “What did you….ugh, this works fast.” He fell to his knees and then to the floor, face first.

Sam scooted forward, and off of Belrose before relaxing. Taking deep breaths to calm himself. The lights flickered and then came back on. The change in light quality hurt his eyes. He repressed the urge to groan.

“I would ask what he was but I am more astounded by you.” Belrose flopped backwards, spreading her limbs wide. “ Are all Captain America’s enhanced or something?” 

Sam laughed weakly. “No Ma’am. I’ve just gained a high pain tolerance from getting my ass kicked on the regular.”

Belrose’s laugh was stunted. “Oh this is odd. Hearing you use such language.”

Sam scoffed. “It’s alright. Not like I’m in uniform.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. Sorry for being so off my writing game.

* * *

  
  


Laurent set a tray on the coffee table. On it were two mugs, one looked like it came from one of those overpriced houseware stores. White, sleek, sorta modern. It matched the pitcher of cream and bowl of sugar that was also on the tray. The other was dark grey with a faded logo and a chip on its rim. It was also bigger than the white cup, so obviously one of her favorites. The coffee smelled fragrant, different from whatever she kept at the front of the cupboard. Or maybe she knew how to brew it better? Sam made some earlier that morning, but he sucked at coffee. 

She took the battered cup after adding in a spoon of sugar and a long pour of cream. Then took a swizzle stick, and well, first of all Bucky was mad that he even knew what a swizzle stick was called. And secondly, who used them for coffee instead of a damn spoon? Not even the reusable ones, though that’s bad in its own way because of waste, but a metal one. Like the type bartenders use to mix up drinks...She is a bartender...fuck. Whatever, it’s still stuck up. 

Breathe. 

Laurent stirred the cup languanly as she sat back in the arm chair opposite Bucky. She made a show of observing him over her cup. It took less time for Laurant to get ready than he thought. Which sucked because he needed time to brood. To just get the negativity out of his system. They, Sam and Laurant, had pulled a fast one on him. So now he had a choice, either dash after Sam and risk making a scene at the police station. Or...Since she was being rude he figured that returning her stare was fair game. He normally figured people out by now but something nagged at him about her. In some ways she behaved like a victim, like an escapee. But then there were times like this, where she was practically begging him to start something. 

It took her 30 minutes to get ready. That apparently included make up and hair. It was braided back earlier in the morning, now it was down and wavy. She almost looked too formal considering that she managed a pub. Her dark blue slacks were pressed and she was wearing a crisp white button down shirt. Her shoes, a pair of black kitten heels, matched her belt. The only jewelry she wore were some black pearl earrings, and her watch. She could be in an office somewhere if not for the bit of lace poking out where her shirt buttons were open. It didn’t look bad on her, but there were other things she could be wearing if her intent were to seduce then betray. He’d seen enough of her from previous trips to the pub to notice that this was her style. A kinda off kilter business chic, maybe the shirt was sheer, or the skirt length a bit short, but she rarely wore bold colors. Always black or blue with lots of white. Her work out outfit earlier was the brightest thing he’d seen her in. And after seeing the blood spatter on her shirt he wasn’t surprised she stripped it off. So she wasn’t flaunting anything like other would be honey pots they’d encountered. It was almost like she was a person, an actual one with preferences and shit, not a plant to lure unsuspecting Avengers to their doom. 

“Not in the mood for coffee Stormy?” she asked mildly. “Promise it’s not spiked.” 

Breathe.

Bucky took his cup and then took a sip. It tasted better than it smelled. He caught himself before joking that she should teach Sam how to brew a better pot. 

She seemed to notice his hesitation and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Don’t you have work to get too?”

“I will after this. And you?” She smirked at him. “Or are you on babysitting duty?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at her. “We aren’t doing this again.”

She averted her eyes, but kept the smirk. “Whatever you say Stormy.”

“And I’d appreciate it if you used my given name. Where did you get that from anyway?” 

She lit up a bit at the question. Fuck. 

She took a long sip before turning to him and answering. “Your eyes turn the prettiest color when annoyed.”

* * *

  
  


Bucky had given up on trying to get out of this. It was better if he kept watch while keeping his distance. And that meant following Laurent to work. The pub's kitchen was on the small side, just enough room for an assembly line layout. The boy, Marc, was already in the kitchen chopping away. The poor kid looked stressed.

“Marc, You can take care of deliveries for today.” Laurent instructed. Her voice was deeper in French. 

Marc stopped chopping, holding the knife just above the cutting board, “Are you sure!!”

“Yes. It’s past time. And you’ve watched me do it before.”

Marc looked from her to Bucky. “But what about the prep work?”

“Don’t worry, I got help.” Laurent grabbed an apron off a hook and pressed it against Bucky’s chest. She kept her hand there much too long.

Bucky resisted the urge to let the apron fall when she finally removed her hand. Marc scampered to the back exit. 

Bucky gave the apron a sour look. “Excuse me?”

She turned to face him. “You did a pretty good job with breakfast this morning.”

Yeah, he thought, totally deeper in French. No accent either, unlike her english. He wondered if that meant that english was her first language, but that could be put upon as well. “So?”

“So, make yourself useful. Unless you’re planning on just brooding from the corners as a look out.” Her eyebrow raised. “ Wait, no. Nevermind. That’s exactly what you were planning on doing. Don’t. You’ll scare away my customers.” She snatched the apron from him and unfolded it. Then, standing on her tiptoes, she reached up to pull the apron over his head. She then moved to wrap her arms around his waist in order to secure the apron. 

Bucky hadn’t frozen so stiff since the last time he was on ice. There should be limits to how chummy folks could be with people they didn’t know. The sounds of female chattering stopped him from reprimanding her. Two young women entered the kitchen from the back. They paused after entering the kitchen and stared at Bucky. God this was turning into a mess.

“Liv. Chloe, Hello!” Laurent greeted them, slipping easily back into French. She moved to grab her own apron.

“Hi.” the brunette said.

The blonde waved.

“You two can go on and get started with the set up.”

“You aren’t going to introduce us to the hot guy?” the blonde asked.

“Yeah, when did you get a new man anyway?” the brunette followed.

Bucky’s eyebrow twitched. He was being silly, so what if they assumed they were, well, whatevering. Normally he wouldn't care to clear the record. She punched him in the flesh arm, distracting him before he could respond. The punch hurt. He glared down at her. 

The two young women were glancing at him with fearful expressions. Bucky smoothed out his face.

“Ignore him.” Laurunt punched him in the arm again. “He’s a friend from the U.S. Since he has nothing else to do I’m putting him to work. Say Hello Jim.”

Bucky contained himself. No one called him Jim. It was bad enough that anyone called him James, Sam excepting. But Sam was an exception for a lot of things. “Hello.”

Both women nodded, before dashing to the dining area. Bucky could hear them starting to gossip in hushed tones.

Laurent sighed. “You really need to work on your face.” 

Bucky wondered now if she switched languages for his benefit or so that her workers couldn’t understand whatever they happened to overhear. It was just as well, he had questions. 

She moved to the cutting board that Marc was using before he went to the back. “It’s really obvious you know? How you feel. Especially when I so much as glance in Wilson’s direction,” she said while pulling on gloves. 

He stalked over to her. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” his voice was darker than the situation called for. But he was beyond uncomfortable with talking about his private life with her. Especially when Sam was the topic. 

She handed the knife to him with the handle facing him. “Put on some gloves, the blue ones should be big enough for you, and finish these onions. I’m gonna start prepping some peppers.”

He took the knife from her. “You’re full of it. You know that?”

She flounced off, moving to the refrigerator. “You don’t have to be so uptight just cuz Wilson’s got better game. Nothing’s wrong with you. Not physically anyway.”

Bucky focused on ignoring her while pulling on some gloves, careful not to rip them. Why the fuck was he helping anyway? Whatever, a large part of him was relieved that she seemed to have the wrong idea about him and Sam. And he did hate being idle, or at least his mother taught him how. Hundred so odd years later and her discipline stuck. 

“So what is it? Women get scared off after a scowl?” She carried a box of vegetables to another section of the prep area. “Men get scared off after a scowl?”

He didn’t look up from the onions he was chopping. “What would this information do for you?”

She shrugged. “Absolutely nothing besides figuring out why you’ve been boring holes into my skull since we met.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“And?”

He paused while peeling off a new onion’s skin. He could hear her chopping away. The fact that she seemed to wait for an answer instead of pressing for one irritated him even more. 

“What other reason should I need?” he answered. 

“Trust is…” she waved her knife around a bit. Bucky’s attention focused on it. But then with a decisive chop she cut a new pepper in half. “Not expected. It’s not like I trust y’all much either despite the reputation. But Wilson’s -” 

“Sam’s soft,” he cut her off.

She scoffed. “Maybe, but he sure as hell ain’t stupid. So what’s it gonna take for you to cool it?” 

He didn’t have an answer for that. 

She sighed. “I don’t want to be buddy buddy with you, or Wilson for that matter. Me n’ him just have better chemistry is all. But while you’re here I’d appreciate it if you’d tone down the hostility considering that I haven’t done shit to deserve it.” 

“Yet.” 

“Good lord,” she muttered. She scraped the chopped peppers into a bowl.

Bucky gave up on prep work all together. “You’re a ghost Ms Laurunt. There is no record of who you were before your life here in France.”

“The teeth know how to cover their tracks.” 

“Then fill in the blanks for me then?”

“I can’t. I don’t remember enough yet.” 

After a few moments she waved her knife at him, signaling him to get back to work. “If you’re done with the onions I got some tomatoes that need dicing.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. She steadily returned his gaze. Laurent picked a basket out of the box of vegetables full of tomatoes and held it out towards him. Bucky caved first, walking over to her in order to take the basket.

“I know decent amounts of my childhood and teen years,” she said once the basket left her hands. “ Some college shit.” she shrugged. “I remember my time with them way more than I’d like. I don’t remember when I was taken.” She continued her work, switching to chopping up some mushrooms. Not without making a face at them first though. “As odd as this will sound after complaining about having gaps, I have a damn good memory.”

“Yeah,well,” he responded softly. “Even when it comes back, the wipes can mess with the timeline.”

She hummed. “Meh...You’d think they'd upgrade the tech. But I guess a painless and less disorienting process would kill their bad guy cred.” 

“When did you start remembering?”

“Not sure when. I know what though. My favorite color was red growing up. Their officers wear red armbands. I remember zoning out while staring at one and just random images coming back. Random stuff triggers my memories, it would happen to me way more often than others.” 

“This will sound insensitive.”

She gave him a look. 

He just rolled his eyes at her. He was trying to be nice. He was trying to be sympathetic. And why wouldn’t he? From the sound of things their life stories overlapped a lot. “Why didn’t they decommission you?”

“That's a cute way of asking why I wasn’t tossed down the garbage disposal,” she said dryly.

“Laurent.” 

She huffed then continued. “In my case the Teeth did it to themselves. It’s my super power, if I had to call it something. I have a photographic memory just like the movies describe it. Better than the movies describe it. I’m not meant for front line fighting. Just spy stuff.”

“So there are classifications then,” Bucky murmured.

“Yeah. I’m not sure about how they pick who gets what. Or if it is just random. Anyway, whatever they did to me made it easier for me to remember myself. It also made it easier for me to learn and retain information. Can probably recite a library.” 

“That’s-”

“Not even how the best brains work, no.” She shook her head, smiling a bit. “I should probably have a giant head in order to store it all-”

“Naw, you keep it in your hair.”

She set her knife down and gaped at him. “Was that a joke?” 

He groaned. 

Her mouth slowly morphed from an O shape to a grin. “Mr Barnes did you just joke with me? Without being drunk?”

Nope...changing the topic. “What was that stuff you gave me the other night anyway?”

“A fuck ton of trial and error.” She waved him off before he could ask another question. “I know a guy that knows a guy in Cognac that has his own distillery.” 

The brunette rushed into the kitchen, holding up her phone. “You have to see this!”

* * *

  
  


She knew she had to take control of the situation. As soon as the broadcast on Liv’s phone mentioned the police station Barnes looked like he was ready to rip up the city on his way over to meet Wilson. Unfortunately, the pub would open in about 20 minutes and they were already behind on the prep work. 

“Ms Laurent. We got this,” Liv said. “Go. I’m sure Mrs Belrose could use the help.”

She scoffed. “No, she’s a pro. She’ll be fine.”

Marc returned pushing a hand truck stacked with boxes of beer. “What about the Captain?” Marc was one of Belrose’s finds. That was pretty much most of her staff, and the staff of some of her other associates that ran small businesses. It became a bit of an unspoken rule that one of the best ways to put a check on the gang activity in the city was to give troubled kids a steady job that suited them.

“Somethings going on at the police station,” Liv answered. 

“Whoa you gotta go! We got this.”

She looked to the both of them. She called them kids sometimes, but they weren’t children. Chloe, the youngest of her staff, was 22. She remembered 22, for all that it was a bit over a decade ago. She wasn’t some matron to them, at best an older sister, who was she to baby them? She never took a day off anyway. Never got sick, cuz of whatever the fuck the Teeth did. Maybe it was time for a test run. But….

“I appreciate the offer but we’re already behind schedule. Jim can go?” she looked to Barnes and he nodded. It was a testament to his patience that he waited around this long. “And just text me the details?” 

Marc rolled his eyes. “All that's gonna happen this early is that Remmy will stumble in from the gym for an omelette. We got this. Go.” 

She smiled then jerked her thumb at him. “Give this one a little authority and now he’s Mr. big man.” She thought about it for a few beats and then sighed in resignation. She didn’t want to leave Barnes alone, not with his mood. More than that 216 was most likely the cause of this mess, so the urge to tie up loose ends was high. “Fine,” she tore off her apron. “Come on Jim. I know a shortcut.” 

She escorted Barnes to her garage. She contemplated taking the truck but streets would be packed near the station because of the media. They could,however, both fit on her bike. Barnes whistled as she pulled the cover off of it. His tension forgotten in admiration. The thing was once standard issue. A touring motorcycle that had been taken apart and remade into something with enough power and speed to help her outlast anything. It didn’t have any obvious identifying marks, besides its tags. And even with that she had duplicate tags with alternate numbers. It was matte black, because sexy, with the only other color being chrome. Wide enough to be comfortable for long distances and low to the ground.

She felt a bit proud that Barnes seemed to appreciate her vehicle. She wasn’t much of a gear head. And only learned what she needed to fix the basics. Let a crazy mechanic deal with the rest. That was the good thing about escaping during the decimation. With less people the rest of society found ways to step up. The kid that remade her bike didn’t have his mechanics licence at the time, but was a mechanical genius. Was about to intern overseas at Stark industries before shit went sideways. He wanted a project, she needed an escape vehicle. Taking the bike apart and building it back better kept his brain busy for at least a few months.

She grabbed her helmet and passed Barnes her spare. He looked at it in her outstretched hand. 

“We..uh, we’re taking the bike?” He took the helmet and held it loosely in his hands. 

“That a problem?”

“Not at all.” He grinned down at the bike then crouched to get a better look. “You mind?”

“Knock yourself out.” She was suddenly grateful that she did a twist out today. Having it braided back would be better but this was much easier to tie back than the puff she did when she was feeling lazy. She pulled out the scarf and bonnet she kept in her helmet and bagan to wrap up her hair. 

Barnes stood once he seemed to be satisfied with his inspection and then pulled on the helmet. “The keys?”

“In my pocket.” 

They stared at each other for a moment. She pulled on her helmet. 

He looked her up and down. “Can you drive in those shoes?”

She took the driver's position on her bike. She wasn’t about to justify driving her own vehicle to anyone else, heels or no. “If you ask nicely I’ll let you drive her round the block later, k?”

“Be glad we don’t have time to argue about this.” he said, his tone sour. He settled behind her anyway, purposely leaving as much space between them as possible. 

On a base level the idea of having Barnes pressed against her while riding was a pleasant one. He wasn’t her type. It wasn’t some accident that she waited til Wilson was alone to make her approach. She’d at least enjoy some flirting if nothing else. But she wasn’t blind, Barnes was built well. Though as far as her type went his personality wasn’t a good fit either. She got a bit too much pleasure out of messing with him. Even for a fling that wasn’t the most emotionally healthy arrangement. And she needed to hold on to all the emotional health she could. For now she’d enjoy the feeling of thick thighs and a firm stomach, as well as the thrill of knowing that this would piss him off a bit. 

She pressed the button on her keys to open her garage door, then started her bike. “You’re gonna have to hold on, you know.” she said placidly. “Cuz I’m not planning on going the speed limit.” 

He relented and leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her waist. She wiggled a bit in her seat, pressing back against him even more. Chuckling to herself as he groaned in exasperation. Once they were out of the garage and the door was closed she zipped off towards the station. 

She had a good idea of what streets the police kept watch over and avoided those, taking lesser used roads and alleyways. Arianne Belrose, Captain Belrose’s wife, was in the alleyway near the back entrance of the station. She could easily enter the front door. Hell if she knocked any officer would let her inside even at the back entrance. But she stood there, a nervous wreck, gnawing on her thumbnail like she always did when stressed. From the looks of it she rushed to the scene. Her smock, bearing the name of the flower shop she owned, was still tied over her dress. And her long pale hair was tied back with a handkerchief. Arianne was basically femininity personified. Something her wife groused/bragged about when drunk. To the point that it was hard to tell if Camille was jealous of her wife or infatuated. Arianne didn’t seem to notice the bike at all. She jumped a little once the sound of the engine powering down reached her. 

“Chris? Is that you?” Arianne rushed over to the bike anyway. 

“What were you going to do if it wasn’t?” Careful not to tug too hard the woman pulled off her helmet. 

Chastised Arianne stopped just in front of the bike. She hugged herself a little. “You have a friend with you?”

The woman felt like she kicked a puppy. Sighing, she got off her bike. Barnes followed suit. She ignored him for the moment. There would be time for explanations later. She reached out a hand to Arianne. “Come here.” 

Arianne rushed over to give her a hug, nestling her head into the woman’s shoulder.

“Why are you out here? Did you hear something that bad?” 

Arianne shook her head. “It’s because I haven’t heard anything that I’m worried.”

“I think that’s our fault Ma’am,” Barnes said. 

Arianne peeked up at Barnes, squinting at him. She then grabbed the woman by the shoulders and stepped back so that she could look at her. “Chris...Since when have you been dating an Avenger?”

The woman groaned. God damn fangirls, both her and her wife. “Since when have I been dating anybody?”

Arianne gave her friend's shoulder a squeeze. “Alright, new question. Since when have you been bedding an Avenger?”

“No,” Barnes supplied, his tone final. 

This only caused the woman to laugh uncontrollably. Mostly because only Arianne would use an old timey term like bed instead of something more crude. She took a breath to collect herself. “We need to go.”

“Please,” Barnes pleaded. 

She grabbed Arianne’s hands off of her shoulders and gave them a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll lock up my bike. Arianne, go on with Nomad. I’ll be right after you.”

Barnes gave her an appreciative look. It wasn’t a code name that was used often. Despite his new line of work some still called him the Winter Soldier. That wasn’t what he called himself though. He nodded and then held out his arm. Arianne took it.

So he can be a gentleman, she thought as she watched them walk away. She locked her bike and put the alarm on before leaning against it. She then started the process of unwrapping her hair. Giving her tresses a good shake after they were free. She tucked her scarf and bonnet back into her helmet, and then attached hers and the loner helmet to the bike. 

She was procrastinating. Half because she wanted to give Adrienne and Barnes time to see who they came for. Okay, maybe that was a fourth of the reason. She was just hoping that number 216 was safely tucked away and out of sight. She sighed and then made her way to the back door. An officer was holding the door open while waiting for her. She nodded to him before stepping inside. 

Even from the back door she could tell that the basement area was a mess. The workers clearing the rubble had tracked dust up and down the lower stair well. She wanted to peek down just to see the extent of the damage but didn’t want to be a bother. They didn’t need her gawking at them, so she followed the path up the stairs to the main offices. 

Arianne had found her wife, and had tucked herself under Camelle’s arm. Camelle could never keep her Captain like demeanor up around Arianne. Something her subordinates used to their advantage when Captain Belrose was on a tear. A bouquet of roses from her wife always calmed her down, so Arianne’s shop was on speed dial. Visually they were a perfectly balanced couple. Arianne the sun and Camelle the moon. Camelle was a bit older than Arianne, that age difference doubled after the decimation. From what the Captain told her she could see Arianne in her garden while her wife turned into dust and wisped away. That experience only increased their affinity for one another so they oozed compatibility.

Wilson and Barnes were in a corner, their heads close together as they whispered to each other. Maybe this was it. Maybe they had figured out enough to make their next move. To take the fight over to wherever it needed to be taken. Cuz it sure as hell didn’t need to stay here. Maybe… Barnes had said something to Wilson, something that made WIlson’s eyes soften for just a moment. A change that wasn’t noticeable unless you were looking. She was looking. Barnes was looking too, his face was filled with so much hope and longing only for it to be dashed by Wilson returning to business and messing with some weird computer thing on his arm. 

It clicked for her. Barnes wasn’t so prickly with her because he was jealous of Wilson and how easily he got on with people. Barnes was jealous of- 

“Chris!” Arianne called out to her.

She smiled a little, ignoring the disorinetation of being jarred out of her thoughts. “See! Nothing to worry about,” she called out to the couple before ambeling over. She jerked her thumb at the stairs. “Looks like things got a little rough down there though.” 

“A little.” the Captain punched her lightly on the shoulder. “I can say that I got to fight with Captain America now though.”

The woman rolled her eyes. 

“Also,” Camelle lowered her voice. “You got the foundations for a pretty good origin story. Why didn’t you tell me?”

She scoffed. “It’s not that special. In this world, folks like me are a dime a dozen. Just be glad I’m on your side.” she said it lazily. But Captain Camelle Belrose got the hint. And like the professional she was, just laughed the statement off and changed the subject. 

It was always the same old topic with them. This was supposed to be a new life...well her second new life anyway. The first new one at the compound sucked. No. She did not want to talk about why she was the way she was. Wasn’t too interested in using her new abilities either. She glanced back over to Wilson and Barnes. It’d be fine, the professionals were here to take care of it all now anyway. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No action. Just emotions and other stuff.

Somehow they all ended up back at her place to celebrate. Not that it was inappropriate, she managed a pub...that’s kinda what pubs were for. She knew that. She knew that she was doing that whole foreboding joy thing. That even if something else happened later it wouldn’t be because of some oversight on her part. It wouldn’t be Wilson or Barnes’ fault. The men and women in black suits, what was left of Shield. It wouldn’t be their fault either. The Teeth would retaliate, but now the Avengers had made contact, when before they only had rumors. The Teeth thrived on secrecy but that was lost now. They had taken the first step to victory. But still-

The glass she was drying cracked. She sighed before tossing it in the trash, ignoring Chloe’s concerned looks. She should be joining the revelry, but felt a lot safer behind the bar counter. The pub was uncharastically empty tonight. If she had to guess whatever contacts the Teeth had in the city had scrambled the local gangs into action after 216’s capture. They definitely knew the Avengers were involved, the kicker would be if they knew she was as well. There were people she cared about in this city, and The Teeth wouldn’t care much who got in their way. If they got positive confirmation that she was around they'd tear everything up just because. Try to do what they could to make her feel guilty and powerless. Because that’s how they worked, that’s how they triggered submission, by making the target feel as if nothing was worth living for and then denying death anyway.

She’d broken free because she could remember a life before and beyond them. It gave her enough balance to disrupt the connection to their brainwashing. Being like this...being so pensive and pent up only served their purposes. The woman could feel it; feel her, that red faced bitch; creeping in between the cracks of her skull. She took a deep breath, and as luck would have it there were no more dishes that needed to be dried. No distractions so she’d have to make her own. She opened a bottle from the beverage cooler, a fruity white, but thought better of using a glass and took a swig from the bottle instead. Not joining the group would start to look suspicious so she wondered over. She ignored Barnes' raised eyebrow as she sat next to Wilson. 

“Hey!” Wilson nudged her shoulder. “You bring that over for us?”

She took another swig. “Nope. Gotta keep some of the good stuff for myself.”

Barnes made a face.

She winked at him. Not wanting to miss an opportunity to mess with him. She could feel herself lightening up already.

“That’s not very lady like Christine,” Camelle chided. 

She scoffed. “Yep that’s me. Lady like to a fault.” She took another swig.

“I’m old enough to be your mother, don’t back sass me.” Camelle said with mock seriousness.

The woman squinted at Camelle. “You’re old enough to be an aunt.”

Wilson leaned away and averted his eyes. “Stayin out of this part of the conversation.” 

“Amen to that.” Barnes added. The two men fist bumped over the table.

She took another swig of wine. She should have spiked it. It was way too good for her to not be drunk, but unfortunately her new body didn't want to cooperate. “Go on guys, guess.”

Wilson chuckled and shook his head. “Nope.”

Arianne released her wife’s arm long enough to reach over and lightly shove Barnes. “Surely such brave and enterprising heroes aren’t afraid to live dangerously.”

Barnes looked to the woman. “She’s definitely friends with you.”

The woman reached out a hand, palm upwards, and Arianne responded by giving it a low five. 

Just peas in a pod.” Barnes grumbled. 

“Still gonna say no.” said Wilson.

“How bout a little wager?” Camelle offered. 

Wilson looked Camelle up and down and then swiped the wine bottle out of the woman’s grasp. The woman pouted at him. He just shrugged and took a long gulp. Then smacked his lips as he inspected the label. “Not bad for a white.” He put the bottle down with a decisive thump then returned his gaze to Camelle. “Alright. Name your terms.”

The woman was no longer annoyed that Wilson gulped down half of her bottle. Captain America was about to get his ass whupped. 

* * *

Wilson became clingy when drunk. It was kinda cute. She was actually mad at Barnes for hogging him. She should at least get a cuddle since she was letting them crash at her place for the second night in a row. 

Barnes had given up about half way up the stairs to her apartment. Wilson’s arms were around the other man's waist, and somehow they had slipped under Barnes’ shirt, causing him to freeze in place. 

The woman snorted at the sight. Barnes looked back at her, his expression screamed murder. He’d just have to kill her then because even she couldn’t keep the giggles at bay. 

Barnes grumbled to himself as he adjusted his grip on Wilson. Nothing seemed to work well but carrying him bridal style. To which Wilson just laughed and wrapped his arms around Barnes’ neck. Like they were used to doing this. 

So she had to ask.“Does he get this drunk on the regular?”

Wilson peeked at her over Barnes’ shoulder. “Nope! But when I do he takes care of me.” He turned to look up at Barnes’ face. “Don’t cha Buck!”

She managed to ask without her voice cracking. “Buck?”

“Shut it,” he grumbled as he took the stairs, seemingly two at a time, to reach her door. A door he couldn’t open. So now he just stood there trying to look imposing and failing miserably. Wilson had laid his head on Barnes' shoulder and was smiling at him like a dope and it was messing with his trained assassin vibe. She squeezed past them to get to the door

“I’ll get the bed ready.” she said as she entered. 

“Please be fast.” 

“What are you gonna drop him?”

Wilson hummed and then nuzzled his face into Barnes’ neck. “He wouldn’t drop me.”

Barnes looked like he was about to throw his partner. But not out of annoyance. Not if that blush meant anything anyway. 

“Huh…” She tilted her head as she observed them. Of course Barnes could blush. Ex Winter Soldier or not he was human. Humans got embarrassed. Most didn’t turn pink up to their ears though. “Your eyes match your shirt.”

“See!” Wilson said, a bit too excitedly, causing Barnes to have to readjust his grip. “Tell him again? He always wears dark colors, doesn't suit im.” 

“Dark colors don’t suit you,” She said, her tone serius. She must have not been able to keep the smile out of her eyes. Because just like that the color of his shifted from bright blue to stormy grey. 

“The bed?” Barnes reminded her.

“Yes sir!” She turned, more to hide her widening grin than to head to the guest room. She liked that look on him better anyway. 

The boys had taken the sheets off the beds and folded them earlier that morning. She doubted that they were dirty after one night and so busied herself with putting the twin pair of sheets back onto the daybed. 

“You can put me down now you know.” said Wilson.

“Just be patient,” Barnes replied, soft like he was talking to a child. 

It was weird. She held her tongue as they chatted back and forth. Supposedly Wilson was in charge on the field, so whatever was going on now she was sure was different than their usual. Actually she wasn't sure if she was supposed to even witness any of it. 

“All done.” She patted the bed spread. “I’m gonna get him some water. And maybe something for a hangover?”

“Please.” Barnes said as he moved to put Wilson on the bed. 

She watched for a bit longer. Yeah, some of it could just be the camaraderie they'd built up from fighting together but...it wasn’t exactly brotherly either. However, it was a thing, she just couldn’t figure out the nature of the thing. It also wasn’t any of her business. She chided herself before heading to the kitchen. Once she returned with a tall glass of water and some supplements it was easy to see what the thing was. 

Wilson had reclined a bit on the bed, his legs were parted and hanging over the edge. He was shirtless and staring down at Barnes who was taking off his shoes. She’d walked in just as Wilson had begun to nibble on his lower lip. Barnes was transfixed, staring back like a rodent seconds away from being snatched into the air by sharp talons.

Oh.

Well, the woman had two choices at this point. She could make this awkward or pretend she didn’t notice. Option B was safer for all souls involved. 

“Alright. I got drugs and water,” she announced cherrily. 

Barnes practically jumped out of his skin. She ignored him while pushing down a month's worth of secondhand embarrassment. 

Wilson was still too relaxed to have a strong reaction. “Drugs?” But wasn't so relaxed that he was unable to redirect that heated gaze from Barnes to her.

Electricity danced under her skin. His gaze traveled upward until it settled on her neck. He licked his lips. She’d commend herself later for keeping her reaction to only an eye twitch.

“Vitamins. Ginger and Ginseng.” She held out a fist towards him. He cupped her hands and she dropped the pills into his palm. He gave her hand a caress, another thing to ignore….well that and the dimples... before pulling back and popping the tablets into his mouth. She then passed him the glass of water. 

That was it. She needed to go now and bash her head into a wall. Preferably one made out of brick. “I’m gonna get your bed ready Barnes.” It wasn’t the most graceful exit, but whatever. She was fine leaving Barnes to handle the ball of sexual awkward Wilson had settled into alone.

What the fuck did I almost get dragged into? She thought as she aggressively made the pull out bed. Barnes likes Wilson...alright that follows. Wilson was flirting with her? She wasn’t sure if it was just Wilson being a flirt or a targeted thing. If there was a difference between how he flirted with her and how he flirted with Camelle and Arianne. She didn’t want to know if there was a difference after what just happened. Because for now she was pretty sure that Wilson liked Barnes. Or at least was attracted to him enough to make eyes at him while drunk. Which had to wreak havoc on Barnes’ heart. She’d feel sorry for Barnes if that wasn’t an emotion that would drag her deeper into the wanna be love triangle that almost developed. 

100% wanna be, because after a day or two the Avengers and their emotional constipation would be out of her home and her city. Wilson could find someone else to transfer his lust/love? to. 

“Hey...” Barnes had finally come from the guest room .

“Sup. he all tucked in?”she answered. 

“Yeah,” he played with his hands . God was he nervous? Was he about to make this weird? Talk about whatever the fuck just happend? 

He looked like he needed a hug. Like he needed his mother to beam down from heaven and give him one of those good hugs, with the back pats and everything.

Fuck.

No. You are not doing this. You just said that you were not gonna feel sorry for him. That’s a trap. 

“I’m used to taking care of drunks, never thought that would include a superhero,” she said lightly.

“Yeah well…”

“At least he’s not a loud one. Oh, are y’all gonna be okay for tomorrow? The infiltration I mean?”

“He’ll be fine. The air will sober him up.”

She shrugged, “You know him best. Alright, bed’s made.” She gave the bedcover a final tug. “See you in the morning.” 

“You too.” 

She should have ran but she wanted her exit to look normal. As if normal was even possible, it was probably only Wilson that had no clue what just happened. But because she was an idiot that cared a mite too much about the impression she gave off she walked at her normal pace. Something that let her witness Barnes’ dejected form longer than she needed to. It wore her down enough for her to give Barnes’ shoulder a squeeze as she passed by. Half of her hoped it was encouraging, the other half was kicking and screaming. 

* * *

Oh my fucking god. Oh my fucking god. Oh my fucking god. Oh my mother fucking-What the hell man! 

Bucky lay on his back on the sofa bed that was too comfortable to be a sofa bed and smothered his screams in a pillow. Sam Motherfucking Wilson and his stupid arms, and stupid chest and stupid bedroom eyes. It seemed that as soon as Bucky got in bed and closed his eyes the image of Sam watching him the way he did as he took off his shoes popped right into his brain. Now he was stupidly aroused, stupidly because what the fuck was he supposed to do about it? This wasn’t his house. He wasn’t in a guest room with a door. Despite his earlier reservations Laurent didn’t seem that bad a sort. He wouldn’t leave her that sort of mess to clean up. 

Besides, what if someone had to get a glass of water, or go use the bathroom….Shit...should he use the bathroom? Just go into the bathroom. Make it quick. Bite the metal arm to muffle the sound. Right….

Right. 

He had a plan now.

Okay.

* * *

Sam’s had worse hangovers. He’d get over this one with a good breakfast and a lot of water. Pain killers were, well, he preferred to only use those for serious injuries. As a bonus he remembered a decent amount, though it was hard to put it into context. Not that he was worried. He knew he could be a silly drunk, but he’d never done or said anything that caused irreversible damage. 

Right now though he was parched. Sam cracked his eyes and saw a bottle of water on his pillow. It shocked him fully awake so he didn’t miss the soft rustling of paper across the room. He rolled over in bed to see Christine leaning over her desk.

Her slacks were white today, perfectly pressed and fitted. She wore a black vest with a black short sleeved button down under it. Her hair was in two large cornrows. He was in pajama pants and it took a lot from James to get him in even those. Still, it was “fuck the sun wasn’t even up yet” o’clock but he felt under dressed.

She turned to him. “Sorry.” She gestured to the lamp on the desk. “Did the light wake you?”

He shook his head. “Was just thirsty.” He croaked. That was all the incentive he needed to reach for the water bottle. He chugged half the bottle. It was room temperature, thank god it was room temperature. He preferred it to cold water, cold water bothered his teeth. 

“Good. I wasn’t certain that you’d need it”

Sam looked from the water bottle to Christine. “You did this?” 

She tilted her head at him as she leaned against the desk. “Yeah..?”

“Oh”

“Was that a bad thing?”

“No,” he said emphatically. He drained the rest of the bottle.

“Okay. I’m just gonna grab these and go then” She gestured to the binders. She was, jumpy might be a stretch, but she certainly wasn't comfortable. 

“You’re fine here...Actually. Is James up yet?”

“Dunno.”

“Good.” 

She squinted her eyes at him before returning to a more neutral expression. Yeah this was necessary. 

“Can we chat for a bit?’

She crossed her arms over her chest and smirked at him. “Chat? Does this have anything to do with James,” she added emphasis on the name. “-not being up yet.”

“No!” Ugh...did he answer too soon? Why was she bringing up James? Why was she looking at him like that? Sam climbed out of bed. He shivered a little bit. It wasn’t super cold but he must have sweated a bit last night. 

“Sorry.” she paused. She was watching him closely, warily.Sam didn’t like it. “I run hot most of the time so I keep the temp cooler than usual.”

“I’m fine. Look. I kinda think I should clear the air a little bit.”

“Go on.”

He moved to lean next to her on the desk. “There isn’t a subtle way to put this.”

“I prefer the direct approach anyway.”

“Heh...right. So, we were flirting right?”

“We were,” she answered cautiously.

“I don’t normally do this with ...er”

“Missed opportunities?” 

“Yeah...But evil organizations complicate things. We might have to leave in a hurry. We might have to send random agents to your home to pick up luggage that we couldn’t retrieve. Hell, we might end up popping back on your doorstep months later to whisk you away in the middle of the night based on intel that you're their next target.”

Confusion flashed over her features. But the emotion was so brief he was sure he imagined it. 

“That’s specific,” she responded. “Has that happened before?”

He huffed. “Girl you have no idea. Anyway. I don’t want unnecessary awkwardness.”

“Might be a bit late for that,” her sarcasm surprised him but her face brightened after a moment. She leaned over to bump into him with her shoulder. “Thanks for trying to be mature though. I appreciate it.” 

“Well.”he grasped one of her hands and brought it up to his lips. After kissing it he rubbed her fingers. “I’d just be wrong not to say anything after sleeping in your house and eating all your food.” 

She snatched her hand from him and swatted at him lightly before turning away. “Stop that.”

He crowed over her. “Are you blushing?” He used a finger to lift her chin and turn her face back to him. “Let me see.”

“See what?” she asked. Her eyes narrowed at him but there was no heat in her voice. It was cute. “Not like you’d be able to tell anyway.”

He wrapped his free hand around her waist and pulled her closer. “Oh I think I can tell.” 

They had just talked about this. Well nothing was said fully, but it kinda didn’t need to. Still, she seemed to be on the same wavelength as he was. All things being normal they would have hooked up for as long as he was in this part of France and that would be it. Maybe if he flew by this part of the world again they would hook up a second time, but really that was it besides general acquaintanceship. It was nice when he met someone who got it.

They had silently agreed that none of that was going to happen. Because really when would they have the time or privacy to do so? But now they were alone and he’d already passed certain touch barriers. And she was warm. And whatever she put in her hair smelled nice. And her lips were already parted anyway so who could blame him for leaning in for a kiss.

James could apparently. James who didn’t knock and just pushed the door open. Not that Sam could fault James, it wasn’t as if he’d left a sock on the door knob or anything. But now James had his murder face on. It was startling enough to cause Sam and Christine to separate. 

“So you were up.” So much disappointment in his tone. And maybe anger? 

Why was he angry? What was worse was that his eyes were locked onto Christine. Which, whatever else was going on, Sam was pretty sure he was the one taking liberties. So even if James were angry he should’ve been angry at Sam. 

As James left the room Sam could see a bit of sadness on his face, which was more perplexing than the anger. Sam wracked his memories but still couldn’t remember saying or doing anything that crazy. James carried him to bed and helped him get dressed cuz James goes into mother hen mode whenever Sam is drunk. It’s happened before. Christine helped out a bit, got him water. Now Sam was wondering if something happened between them after they put him to bed.

Christine let out a heavy sigh. “So this is how I go. Fucking lazerbeams right though the head.” she muttered.

“What?”

She shook her head at Sam and then reached up to cup his cheek. “Oh honey.” She rubbed his cheek with her thumb. “It’s okay, you’ll figure it out one day. Come on.” She moved her hand from his face to pat him on the shoulder “You’re up so you might as well get dressed.” 

He watched her collect the binders off the desk then leave the room, dumbfounded. What the hell did he miss? 

* * *

  
  


James was a little mad at him, or at least mad enough to use all the hot water. Not that Sam understood how since James didn’t have washing his hair as an excuse anymore. Sam took the cold shower without complaint since he must have done something. It helped clear the remnants of his hang over anyway. He took his time getting dressed. Not because he needed to. Not much was simpler than jeans and a tee shirt and he’d be suiting up later anyway. But because the counselor in him realized the others needed the space.

Despite the inviting smell of bacon, the living room and kitchen were quiet. Christine was in the kitchen working away. James was in an armchair messing with his tablet. For the zillionth time Sam wondered how many black shirts James even owned. Because even if it was just some sweats and a tank top, both were black. But now wasn’t the time to rag on him for it. 

Sam knew anything he said to try and break up the silence would work about as well as lighting a match in a gas filled room. Thankfully he didn’t have to fill the void. 

“Y’all good with cinnamon in the pancake batter?” Christine called from the kitchen.

“Heathen!” Sam hoped his voice was jovial enough to convey the joke. “What’s wrong with good ole fashioned buttermilk? Why do you people always gotta add shit in?”

James looked up from his tablet. “What do you mean you people….” James never made pancakes unless there were enough fresh blueberries to make it worth it. Which for him meant only when blueberries were being sold at the farmers market. Which meant that Sam risked the drive to Jersey in the summer to pick them up just to have an excuse to swing by James’ apartment in June.

Okay he didn’t really have a problem with add-ins in his pancakes, but no one needed to know that.

“Just for that I’m adding nutmeg too,” said Christine.

It wasn’t perfect, but it took the edge off. Soon even James was chatting along with them,and smiling. By the time they sat down for breakfast some sort of equilibrium had been reached. Whatever enmity existed between James and Christine, for now at least they were willing to fake getting along. And they both seemed to have forgiven Sam for whatever misunderstanding he’d caused. Sam would rather they come right out with it but he’d ask each of them in private later. For now he was glad that he could joke with James about getting syrup all over his fingers despite using a knife and fork. And chastise Christine for adding ginger to the pancake batter as well, cuz who the fuck makes spicy pancakes? And why were they sorta good? James took over the clean up and Christine let him do all but dry the dishes. Sam felt left out as he watched them at the sink and found himself wondering over to the kitchen.

“He’s hovering again.” James said without sparing Sam a glance. 

“Is that normal for him?” Christine asked. 

“It is. Ignore him.” 

She leaned back to peek at Sam who was trying his hardest to look like he was going for a second cup of coffee instead of hovering as James put it. 

“I don’t know,” she said. “ He might die if someone doesn't give him attention.” 

“Rude,” Sam said, feigning hurt. 

She winked at Sam. “I got this Barnes,” she bumped into James lightly with her shoulder. “ Make some more coffee before ya boy ruins it.”

Now Sam was offended. “What is wrong with how I make coffee?”

“Everything,” James dried off his hands and moved to shoo Sam away from the coffee maker, as if there really was some problem with how Sam made coffee. He never complained when Sam made coffee before, what was wrong now?

“Ha ha guys. So funny.”

James and Christine looked to each other before James continued to make the coffee. He didn’t seem to be doing anything special to make it to Sam.

“Fine whatever, at least you two are getting along now,” Sam crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter next to James. 

“We’ve called a truce.” she said. 

“This is life or death,” he agreed.

James and Christine looked to each other once more and shared a small smile. Sam pushed down another urge to get between them, to be included in whatever was going on.

“You look lost hun.” Christine had finished with the dishes and was drying her hands. She placed the back of one of her hands onto Sam’s forehead, standing on her tiptoes to do so. “You sure you need more caffeine?”

Sam gently removed her hand from his forehead. “I’m good, thanks.” He gave her hand a squeeze before letting go. And because he felt it was important he reached over to give James’ shoulder a squeeze. “And thank you too.”

“For what?” James asked.

Christine giggled. “Oh...you remember last night?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t that drunk, guys.”

“You weren’t?” she asked. 

James and Christine looked to each other yet again. Christine cut off eye contact first and shrugged. 

Sam felt a chill. “You know what, whatever it is forget it.”

James shook his head. “It wasn’t anything anyway.” 

“Nothing at all,” Christine agreed. She made her way out of the kitchen. “I’ll be at my desk. I like a lot of cream in my coffee by the way.” 

“Bossy,” James muttered. It was fond.

That tickled something in Sam’s chest. He should probably address that later. “I’ll take it to her.”

“I got it,” James said, he followed before Sam could object. “You should call Sharon.”

Right, they were here for a mission. He didn’t have time to dwell on whatever this thing was. He and James would be gone soon anyway. And there was nothing to be done about that.


End file.
